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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765550">To Be Worthy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeetmeaway/pseuds/Yeetmeaway'>Yeetmeaway</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Widow (Movie 2020), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Vikings, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Assassination Plot(s), Blood and Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love Triangles, Marvel Norse Lore, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Non-Explicit Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, References to Norse Religion &amp; Lore, Sensuality, Slow Burn, Suggestive Themes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:08:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>124,682</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765550</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeetmeaway/pseuds/Yeetmeaway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Posing as the daughter of a Viking warlord, Natasha is betrothed to her enemy-- a young warlord of unearthly strength and power whom she is tasked with killing. But when she first lays eyes on her husband-to-be it quickly becomes clear that all of her intelligence about him was massively understated. Ordered not to abandon her mission and determined to go through with her plan, Natasha quickly draws the attention of her future husband’s warrior, a man she suspects may be a counterspy and who seems intent on learning everything about her. With the day of her wedding fast approaching, Natasha has everything to lose— her professional reputation, her life, and even her heart.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Natasha Romanov/????, Steve Rogers &amp; Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, Yelena Belova &amp; Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>314</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>299</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Lure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natasha awaited the arrival of her target with a sense of nervous anticipation. She was not accustomed to this feeling; she thought that fear and doubt had been trained out of her long ago. But the sight of the dark, angry thunderclouds heralding the arrival of the fleet of warships made her palms prickle. She clasped her hands in front of her to combat the sensation.The storm rolled in with the ships, seeming to follow the Northmen into the shore as lightning chained and flashed threateningly in the skies above. It felt like a bad omen, and for a fleeting moment, her carefully serene expression faltered. Natasha shook herself and fixed her face back into a tiny smile. There was too much riding on this to doubt herself over something as silly as superstition. Beside her, her employer shifted from foot to foot before he gripped her elbow and leaned in to whisper in her ear.</p>
<p>“Do not fail me, Widow,” he warned.</p>
<p>She shot him a cool glance, appraising the tenseness in his expression, the worry in the dark eyes set into his leathery face. “We do not fail, Strucker,” she said as she turned her gaze back on the coming storm. “And remove your hand or you will lose it.”</p>
<p>Strucker released her with a disapproving frown so deep it nearly disappeared in the salt and pepper of his braided beard. Natasha ignored him as she stared down the fleet arriving on the shore. Strucker wasn’t a complicated man— she had him pegged from the moment she arrived two weeks ago. He was an old Northman, a warlord, proud, self-serving, power-hungry and calculating. He was no different from other clientele she had been contracted to work for in the past. It gave her a small measure of amusement that he was reduced to beg for mercy from his enemy. His nervousness and uncertainty of her ability to carry out the mission no doubt stemmed from his insecurity over losing control of his power and turning to the Widows for help. Natasha pursed her lips and faced the incoming ships with a renewed sense of resolve. Her reputation and success were riding on this mission. This was to be her graduation.</p>
<p>The vanguard arrived on shore first and the warriors and shieldmaidens offloaded on gangplanks. Their posture was friendly, their weapons sheathed. They were here to negotiate peace, after all, but Natasha noted that their expressions were tense. They were ready for war. That suited her fine; she was here to start one.</p>
<p>She painted her face into a perfect, cordial smile at her employer’s side as she surveyed the gathering troops below. She did not see their leader among them; he was likely on board the ships still coming in. From what she had gathered, he would be a hard man to miss— he was described as enormously tall, broad shouldered with hair the colour of gold. But any further information on her target was sparse. Even Strucker was tight-lipped about him. Nobody could account for who he was or where he came from, but he was a leader of men and a strong one at that. A messenger was sent up from the beaches, and her employer turned from his position on the bluff to meet them halfway. Natasha followed, playing the part of a dutiful daughter attending to her “father’s” side.</p>
<p>As he descended to the beaches below, Strucker spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture that also showed that he was unarmed— not that it would matter if these warriors were ordered to take Strucker's head as a welcoming present. Natasha could see the twitch of muscle in Strucker’s face as he tried to force himself to smile. It must be humiliating for him to bow and scrape like this and she suppressed a wry smile. There was always something satisfying about seeing powerful men and women crumble. She made it happen enough times that she learned to enjoy the fear, the disbelief in their eyes as she ended their lives. It felt like control to take everything from them. It felt like power. But in the end it didn’t matter— for each warmongering, sadistic ruler she killed, the one who hired her took their place and continued the cycle of violence and destruction. She was merely the tool, the means of deciding who was on top and her purpose here was no different from her other missions.</p>
<p>Strucker was a member of the old warlords— conquerors, warmongers. They tore through the land in a brutal quest for power that destroyed so many lives and broke apart the countryside. The balance of power was in flux as the warlords fought to capture scraps of territory from one another in endless, bloody war. But the sudden appearance of this new challenger and his army had undone years of conquest in a matter of months. The old warlords soon fell like hares to the hunter’s sling as the young warrior took control of each of their holdings. They resisted at first, the more powerful warlords waging war, but the young warlord destroyed them all. One by one he took back the lands in swift and decisive conflicts, shifting the balance of power in his favour. It was a story she had heard a hundred times before and would likely hear a hundred times more. </p>
<p>Faced with few options, Strucker surrendered to the young warlord and offered to broker peace through marriage to his eldest daughter, Natasha. Truthfully, Strucker had no children left to marry off, his sons and daughters were killed, traded, sacrificed to his quest for power. But he made the offer all the same and when the young warlord accepted the bargain, Strucker contacted the Widows. The Widows selected their red-haired sister to go, and Natasha was who she became. Posing as Strucker's daughter, she would marry the young warlord and legally bind her employer’s truce. But her mission thereafter was simple: she would take her new husband to bed and kill him before morning. She’d be paid extra if she ensured he was denied a warrior’s death and entrance into the golden halls of Valhalla. War would follow after to destroy the rest of the young warlord’s army.</p>
<p>Strucker finally managed to put on a bare half-smile and spoke to the messenger, a small, sharp featured woman with dark eyes. “Tell your lord that I welcome him! He is under my protection here, and I grant you all hospitality as we join our two houses as one to usher in a new era of peace.”</p>
<p>It was a lovely little speech, Natasha thought. Clearly rehearsed, though not so believably delivered.</p>
<p>“As you please,” the messenger said and returned to the beach below as another warship pulled into shore.</p>
<p>The gathering crowd below was relaxed and impassive as they watched Strucker and Natasha kept her face carefully neutral as she scanned these warriors for her prey, the nervous anticipation rising in her again. She wanted to see the man she had heard so infuriatingly little about. They called him many things— great warrior, true king, the bringer of storms, protector. Some said he possessed inhuman strength and swore he was an Aesir, a son of Asgard. But Natasha knew better than to believe such things. He was a man, nothing more, and she knew of many ways to dispatch men, no matter how strong. That was why she was hired, why any of them were hired. They were the Widows, mercenary women, infiltrators, assassins. They had no qualms about dishonourable deaths, underhanded tactics, or deceit. They were comfortable with everything asked of them.</p>
<p>The messenger disappeared onto the newly arrived ship to deliver Strucker’s words of welcome. When the young warlord finally emerged from his ship and stepped onto the beach, the air was heavy with electricity. The hair on the back of Natasha’s neck stood on end and her heart nearly stopped in her chest at the sight of him. The storm brewed overhead, oppressive and swirling as if waiting for his command. He was dressed in scaled chain mail and intricate leather armour over top of a royal blue tunic. A Northman style helmet with a nose, eye, and jaw guard covered half his face and a blonde beard covered the rest. His hair spilled from beneath his helmet in bright, golden, shimmering waves that fell loosely down his back. Dark fur trimmed the crimson wool cloak around his broad shoulders and in his hand he held a strange warhammer. It seemed to crackle and sing with an unearthly energy that Natasha could feel from up the beach. Her palms prickled and she shot Strucker a brief, hateful glance. He refused to look at her— he had known all this time what he was throwing her into.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was not the plan. Her intelligence mentioned nothing about him being a god.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The young warlord approached and the same electric energy that spilled from him radiated from his eyes which glowed pale blue like the edges of a bolt of lightning. Natasha’s breath caught in her throat as he turned his gaze to her. She felt electrified, her body tingling as he pinned her with his stare.</p>
<p>Strucker took this moment to nervously step closer to meet the Aesir. He towered over them now— Natasha barely came up to his shoulder, and as he stood next to her, the stifling, unearthly power he exuded became nearly unbearable. She was encased in it, surrounded by an intense, cloying pressure as though she were enveloped in a storm cloud. When she inhaled she could taste ozone, feel static electricity over her tongue, along her skin, in her hair. He was like the embodiment of the storm itself, and she felt it to her very marrow. Suddenly, her anticipation turned to doubt. Could a man such as this be killed by normal means? Would her blade be enough to end his life?</p>
<p>“My daughter,” Strucker choked, gesturing to Natasha and breaking her from her swirling thoughts. She remembered herself and adjusted her posture, her gaze flicking to meet his. The young warlord remained silent, his inhuman eyes searching her. “She will be a suitable bride, I trust?”</p>
<p>Natasha’s heart pounded in her chest, afraid his strange eyes would somehow see through her, but outwardly she remained professional. She put on a dazzling smile. She was trapped in this now, and the plan would be moot if the young warlord didn’t agree to the arrangement first. She had to play the part until she could contact the Widows in the Red Room.</p>
<p>His strange gaze held her, his face impassive. “She’s beautiful,” he said, voice rich and deep.</p>
<p>Natasha smiled genuinely at that. God or no, he was a man in one regard, it seemed. She flicked her gaze across his body, tracing the roots of Yggdrasil etched into his armor. Despite her uncertainty, she continued on with her job, setting out the lure.</p>
<p>“I look forward to getting more intimately acquainted with you, my lord,” she said softly.</p>
<p>Her words might be construed as polite, but the double entendre was there if he was looking for it, and her search of his body hadn’t escaped his notice. He gave her a half-smile which she returned. His gaze was maddeningly hard to read with his face mostly obscured and his eyes glowing with strange energy. But he seemed standoffish. Perhaps he wanted his women more shy and demure. Natasha slipped into that as easily as breathing, shifting her posture and stealing more furtive glances at him as she fell into step with him as Strucker showed him to his quarters to rest after a long journey.</p>
<p>The Aesir was made acquainted with the little village they were using as their base of operations. It was on the edge of Strucker’s conquered territory, a sleepy hamlet by the sea that had been sacked and rebuilt long ago. It was small and simple and far away from Strucker’s true home. His choice to meet here made it clear that Strucker feared what the young warlord might do to his more valuable holdings if this all went sideways. The three of them made their way through the cluster of humble buildings as Strucker showed the young warlord the courtyard, the mead hall where they would conduct peace talks, the simple rows of turf houses standing in as barracks for Strucker’s men, the bathhouses and storage facilities, and finally, the longhouse just outside the main village that Strucker kept for himself and his close advisors and thralls. He was particularly proud to show the young warlord that.</p>
<p>It was a massive structure, impressive by any standards, but the young warlord seemed unmoved and shot Natasha a cool glance as she stood by his side. She did her best not to bristle and as she stood within the field of his strange power, she imagined she could feel his displeasure rolling from him in waves. As they made their way back from Strucker’s longhouse, Strucker led the young warlord to his accommodations. Nearer to the beach, a fair-sized, two-storey manor house was constructed and behind it two smaller turf houses stood in waiting. When she had first arrived here weeks ago, Natasha smelled the fresh-cut timbre used for the new building and wondered why Strucker would take such lengths to build a brand new structure for a guest. But now it made sense. He was trying to please his enemy to avoid his wrath. Natasha stood by the young warlord’s side as Strucker showed him inside, doing her best to push aside how claustrophobic the room felt as the Aesir's overwhelming energy surrounded her. The house was one room, humbly furnished with long tables, bench seating and a hearth. The first floor lead up to a loft that would serve as the young warlord's sleeping quarters. Strucker gave him a terse smile, perhaps secretly hoping that the young warlord would be impressed by his wealth and generosity.</p>
<p>“Here is where you will sleep,” he said. “And the beaches are safe enough for your men.” He seemed proud to have planned this all out and Natasha bristled. What a pompous fool. “The buildings out back are for your thralls,” he continued proudly, “I have given you a family of them to attend to your every whim.”</p>
<p>It was a generous gift, but the young warlord’s eyes narrowed and he turned on Strucker who shrank back in fear. The air in the room shifted, becoming heavy with a powerful, oppressive energy that quickly filled the room and made it difficult to think. Strucker shot her a brief glance as if expecting her to defend him, and her hand curled into a fist as she stood by the young warlord’s side. Overhead thunder rumbled threateningly as the young warlord towered over Strucker.</p>
<p>“I do not want your slaves,” he said dangerously.</p>
<p>“I— I did not mean—” Strucker bleated.</p>
<p>The pressure in the room became nearly unbearable and Natasha eyed the Aesir sharply, uncertain of what he would do. The cosmic power flowed from him and clung to every inch of her body. Her hidden blade felt like a brand against her thigh and she itched to draw it. If this was what he was like when he was angry, she shuddered to think what he would be like when he fought. But the young warlord exhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists in a bid to control himself.</p>
<p>“Thank you for your generosity,” he amended, “but I have no need of thralls, there are only freemen among us.” Strucker flinched and the tension seemed to dissipate a little, enough for Natasha to unclench her fist and relax. The young warlord appraised Strucker coolly for a beat. “Perhaps as a gesture of goodwill, you will free them.” It was not a suggestion. Strucker stared at him before he narrowed his eyes and nodded meekly. The young warlord gave a brief smile as he continued. “And the mead hall will suit my warriors fine. They will sleep in there. I will have them move, you need not trouble your thralls with making the arrangements. Your beautiful longhouse will serve as our negotiating space.”</p>
<p>Strucker looked like he might protest, but he decided against it and his lips twisted into a grim smile instead. “Of course,” he said, “that was an oversight on my part, forgive me.”</p>
<p>He looked like he might choke on the words. If the Aesir noticed, he paid it no mind. “All is forgiven, my friend. We are to be family soon, there can be no animosity between us.”</p>
<p>Strucker looked sick at the notion and his gaze drifted to Natasha with a smile. If he expected her to just accept this unexpected change in the mission, he was sadly mistaken. But she smiled at him and then turned her attention to the young warlord. Now that the tension had lessened, she could make herself push through this field of crackling cosmic power and do her job.</p>
<p>“I’m sure you’ve had a long journey my lord,” she said, her voice sweet and light. “You should rest and get settled in.”</p>
<p>He looked at her for a moment, his flinty anger dissipating a little. “You are kind, my lady,” he said. “I will see that my warriors are settled first before I rest. I hope to become better acquainted with you in the coming weeks.”</p>
<p>He seemed to respond to the meek and polite front she put on, and Natasha made a note of that. After his minor outburst at the mention of thralls, her first impression told her he was gallant and noble-minded, and his behaviour toward her now was polite and respectful. Already she was piecing together what sort of man he was, and he was quickly shaping into something familiar, recognizable. He was a noble lord it seemed, and if he wanted a lady, then she’d give him one. Natasha gave him a shy smile and tucked her hair behind her ear. The Aesir smiled in return, his expression guarded as if he was still uncertain about her. He was smart to feel that way— she was the daughter of his enemy after all. It would take some convincing to get him to trust her.</p>
<p>The Aesir studied her carefully as if hoping she might speak again, but she didn’t want him studying her too hard, so Natasha gave him her sweetest smile, glancing up at him through her lashes as she gently reached out and curled her fingers into his cloak to give it a playful tug. As if taken by her, charmed by her, her husband-to-be took a half step closer, a timid smile playing at his lips and Natasha was reassured. This might work after all. She took a chance at some innocent flirtation to see if it would land.</p>
<p>“Go see to your men then,” she said, “so that I may have you to myself sooner.”</p>
<p>His smile broadened, his strange eyes searching hers for a moment before he shook himself as if remembering his manners and turned to her to gently take her hand. As soon as he touched her, Natasha flinched. The strange and unearthly energy that flowed from him leached into her skin, sending goosebumps racing up her forearm like an arc of electricity. She could barely react to the sensation before the Aesir brought her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on her knuckles, bowing a little to do so. Natasha suppressed a gasp at the humming, electric sensation of his lips on her skin. She felt small in his grasp, his hand dwarfing her own as he held her like she was delicate, like he was afraid to hurt her.</p>
<p>“I will see you soon,” he said.</p>
<p>His words were a soft, warm rush on her skin and she felt charged, held in place by this electric, cosmic sensation. The young warlord released her hand and Natasha quickly withdrew.</p>
<p>Her skin tingled, singing and alive with his touch even after he had let her go. She curled her fingers into her dress, hoping he wouldn’t notice the effect he had on her. She could barely manage anything intelligible, so she nodded, the careful smile still on her lips. He smiled in return, nodded to Strucker and left, the energy in the room disappearing with him. Strucker visibly relaxed and followed him to the door frame, watching him leave with a look of simmering hatred. Natasha exhaled slowly, her knuckles white as she clenched her fist to try and stop the humming buzz of her nerve endings. She could still feel that powerful charge all the way up her arm and into her chest. Her heart pounded, her body electrified in a way that set her on edge. This was the man she was meant to kill and she could barely stand to touch him. She watched the young warlord disappear through the village for a moment before she shook herself and turned her attention to the back of Strucker’s bald head.</p>
<p>When the young warlord was out of sight, Natasha furiously grabbed Strucker’s arm and twisted his fingers and wrist into a painful hold. He cried out and she forced him back into the young warlord’s empty abode with a shove. She closed and latched the door behind them as he whirled on her, his expression dark with rage. But when he saw her face, he cowed, suddenly realizing that he was alone with a Widow.</p>
<p>“This was not what we agreed upon,” Natasha said, taking a threatening step toward him. “You withheld some very important information, Strucker.”</p>
<p>He paled, his dark eyes wide in the wrinkled folds of his leathery face. “I didn’t know—”</p>
<p>“Horseshit,” Natasha said, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “You knew exactly what he was. What made you lie to the Widows? Did you think we wouldn’t take the job, or did you falter at how much more this would cost you?”</p>
<p>His expression told her it was the latter and Natasha set her jaw. She should kill him now and be done with it, but she wasn’t allowed to make those judgement calls. She wasn’t a full Widow, yet. She exhaled sharply and clenched her fists. “I will get in touch with the Red Room,” she said. “Until they respond, I will continue the plan as I see fit. You will stay out of my way.”</p>
<p>Strucker pursed his lips, clearly unhappy with being issued orders and Natasha took a step closer. “You’d better hope the Widows want your money more than I want your life.”</p>
<p>He blanched, and Natasha whirled and flung open the door and left the room, adopting her graceful demeanor once more. What an irritating complication. She was certain of herself before, but now she had doubts. If he really was Aesir, a son of Asgard, a <em>god</em>, then how was she meant to kill him? She sighed and returned to the empty cabin just behind Strucker’s longhouse to send word to the Widows. She kept accommodations separate from Strucker for her own sake as well as his. He didn’t need to know her dealings and she didn’t want him to pry. It might tempt her to kill him before she completed the mission.</p>
<p>Entering the small room, Natasha immediately set to work writing her coded message explaining how the mission had changed. When she was finished, she opened her window and surveyed the rolling green of the desolate landscape as it blended into the distant forest. On infiltration missions Widows had access to messenger birds— often of an innocuous species. In this case, she had a crow. She set a brightly coloured shawl on the windowsill to call the bird inside. She turned around to seal the message in a travel capsule. Behind her, the quiet flutter of wings and gentle tap of claws on her windowsill heralded the bird’s arrival. Natasha turned and fixed the message to the bird’s leg, taking a moment to stroke his head and back before it set off again.</p>
<p>With her messenger bird dispatched, Natasha had now only to wait until she heard back from the Widows. She didn’t expect to hear back for at least a week, and the date of the wedding had not been determined yet, so she had time to plan her next moves before she would be forced to either withdraw or go through with the plan. Natasha sighed and surveyed the distant woods sprawling out behind her cabin. For the first time in a long, long time, she felt uncertain. Something about that ate at her and she quickly drew the shutters closed. Instead she slipped out of the room, carefully latching the door closed behind her. She intended to make her presence familiar around the village and to begin her first phase of intelligence gathering. Natasha easily adopted her chosen mannerisms once more, shifting her posture and sliding on a smile like a mask as she made her way into the crowded bustle of the village.  </p>
<p>She intended to find out whether or not the god bled. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well hello again!</p>
<p>A couple of things: I'll say up front that this fic might not be everyone's thing. It's a bit out there, but I hope you trust me enough to stick with it! (I have lots planned with this one haha).</p>
<p>Also, while this fic isn't set during any particular time period, I'll include some stuff that maybe helps with what is going on in the story if you're unfamiliar with Norse and medieval weapons, society, etc. For this chapter you may need to know: Society had 3 basic classes that looked a little like serfdom, though people could move in and out of classes depending on their wealth. Thralls (slave class), freemen (middle class), and earls (or Jarls--wealthy and successful raiders and warlords).</p>
<p>The next chapter will be out soonish and updates will be a bit sporadic. I'll try for weekly, but it might not be doable this time. I'll post any updates on twitter (@YeetaNo).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Enemy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Over the next four days, Natasha threw herself into the centre of the bustling activity as much as was socially acceptable for her character. She eavesdropped, mingled on the edge of the action, and quietly observed the young warlord. As the Aesir had promised, his warriors took up residence in the mead hall and it was easy to overhear conversations while they socialized outside of the building. She heard many things about her target this way, all of them seeming to confirm the same thing— he really <em> was </em> Aesir. Natasha heard tales of how he scuttled entire fleets and armies of men by calling down lightning from the sky. Some said he could fly and summon thunder so loud, it shook the ground in a terrible quake. From what she gathered, the entirety of the young warlord’s forces had voluntarily joined him. Often his warriors spoke of the tyranny of the old warlords, of bloody conflict and slain kin before, like a miracle, the Aesir appeared. He never demanded anyone to fight with him or join his cause, but his warriors followed him all the same. Some, in quiet voices, believed he was the thunder god himself. Each story only heightened Natasha’s unease. They made him seem as though he had no weaknesses at all. </p><p> </p><p>But doubt served no purpose for her mission. Instead she threw herself into getting a feel for who these warriors were. They seemed like a lively, good-natured group for the most part. Natasha noted there were all sorts among them. Linen armor, rudimentary weapons, and a simple manner of dress gave some of them away as poor, while others seemed able to afford more expensive goods— chain mail, swords, and dyed fabric. This tracked with the intelligence she gathered about all kinds of men and women volunteering to fight at the Aesir’s side. </p><p> </p><p>By the third day, Natasha had memorized the faces of the men and women who entered and left the hall, she learned their habits, their mannerisms, and who was friendly with whom as she ran into them around town. The young warlord himself was harder to corner. He was always among his warriors in the mead hall and it was difficult to study him. From their initial meeting, she had a rudimentary profile started, but she was still missing vital information about him. What kind of power did he truly possess and, more importantly, would he be killed by human means? </p><p> </p><p>Confident she knew most of the enemy’s troops, Natasha would be bolder in her approach today. In the mead hall, a great chorus of voices sounded as she slipped into the building. It was a large, one-roomed timbre hall. Bedrolls were packed and stored along the walls and all of the tables were pushed against the back wall so the crowd could gather in the centre of the room. The massive hall easily held a few hundred people, though Natasha estimated only fifty or so were mingling here today. The rest were likely with the ships or getting the lay of the village, or were in the forest. By her count, she had seen and remembered the faces of one hundred of the young warlord’s forces so far. But given the number of longships he had in his fleet, Natasha estimated he would have about one hundred seventy-five men at his disposal. It was an impressively large army for a Northman. </p><p> </p><p>In her initial sweep of the village, she noticed that despite most of the Aesir’s troops moving into the mead hall, some still stayed aboard the ships and a few were likely camping elsewhere. That was interesting— it told her her opponent was smart. The young warlord would be a fool to keep all of his forces in one building and now she counted on him not only being clever but having shrewd advisors and tacticians among his warriors as well. </p><p> </p><p>As Natasha entered, the hall was alive with cheers and shouts as men and women crowded around the centre of the room. She sidled in, sticking close to the wall as she watched the crowd form a ring around the Northman in the middle, who strained and struggled as he tried to lift something heavy. Natasha frowned. Was this a game of some kind? Natasha moved to a different vantage point to see what the man was doing. In the centre of the crowd was the storm bringer’s hammer lying with the pommel in the air. The young man readjusted his grip and cried out as he struggled to lift it, his muscles straining, face red, veins bulging as he struggled and pulled with all his might before he gave up with a laugh and a sheepish shrug. The crowd laughed and whooped as four more men fought to have their turn trying to wield it. They shoved each other jokingly before a rich, pleasant voice cut through the crowd. </p><p> </p><p>“The four of you may try at once if it pleases you.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha looked up to see the Aesir sitting on the head table as he watched the men with a hint of a smile. She hadn’t spotted him through the crowd. He had taken off his armor, to reveal the rich blue of his tunic which belted at the waist with an embroidered linen, and the same brilliant red cloak gathered and pinned back with a silver brooch over his right arm. He still wore his helmet, and Natasha had to wonder if that was a particular point of weakness for him, or if he didn’t trust Strucker not to try and assassinate him. Perhaps he wore armor under his clothes as well. </p><p> </p><p>The Aesir’s attention was focused on the game in the centre with an air of amusement. All four men rose to their lord’s challenge and grasped the pommel of the weapon and pulled, but it didn’t move at all. Natasha frowned. Was this some kind of trick? They laughed and repositioned their grip and pulled again, straining and struggling. One of the men’s grasp slipped and he let go of the handle and stumbled backward, falling into the crowd. There was a cheer and he was flung to his feet with a laugh. He regained his footing and turned to the Aesir, who smiled broadly at him. </p><p> </p><p>“Shall I dance for you as well my lord?” the man shouted over the crowd. </p><p> </p><p>The young warlord’s answering laugh reverberated through her marrow. She’d never heard anyone so warm and friendly. </p><p> </p><p>“Not if you dance like that,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha stifled an amused smile at the Aesir’s jab as she leaned against the wall away from the crowd to watch the remaining three men struggle to lift the warhammer. There had to be some kind of secret to the weapon. Surely it wasn’t enchanted— though seeing the Aesir, she wouldn’t doubt that it was. When she searched for him through the crowd again, she met his eyes from across the room. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, the current of energy prickling across her skin as he held her gaze, a slow smile spreading across his face. She cursed herself for her bright red hair and swallowed, she hadn’t meant to draw his attention quite yet. One of the men at the centre of the circle looked around to see what had caught his lord’s attention and he grinned.</p><p> </p><p>“Strucker’s red-haired daughter is here!” he shouted. The rest of the Northmen turned to find her and Natasha turned on the coy shyness that she had made part of her identity. “Will you try our game? Surely the bride of the Thunderer can lift her husband-to-be’s hammer?” </p><p> </p><p>She laughed charmingly, “If the four of you couldn’t, then surely I can’t either,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>The young warlord pushed himself from his seat and made his way across the room to her. She noted that he didn’t walk through their game, but went around. The rest of his troops gave each other knowing looks and elbows to the ribs in jest as they ushered each other away from the hammer. Many of them left, though a few waited by the door to speak in quiet voices. Natasha could see by their posture that they were standing guard. The Aesir hadn’t needed to issue a single command, his warriors moved to protect him and give him privacy with his bride of their own accord. He had their total respect, it seemed. A flicker of irritation burned through her and she endeavored not to let it show. With such devoted followers, it would be difficult for her to gather information on the young warlord. </p><p> </p><p>“What brings you here, my lady?” the Aesir said, voice warm and friendly. </p><p> </p><p>The strange crackling energy that surrounded him enveloped her once more as he towered next to her and her breath hitched. She used the involuntary reaction to avert her gaze and collect herself. </p><p> </p><p>“I wanted to see you,” she said, feigning shyness. </p><p> </p><p>He seemed to gauge her response for a moment before he chuckled and relaxed a little. “You are a bold woman,” he mused. </p><p> </p><p>That was something she could add to her character if he liked that in a woman. Natasha smiled and arched a brow.  “And <em> you </em> said you’d see me soon. Am I to wait until the wedding day for you to call on me?” she teased. </p><p> </p><p>He laughed openly at that, perhaps caught off guard by her response. Immediately, she made note of how to better ingratiate herself to him. Shy and demure, but with an edge of wit and feistiness. Easy. She smiled in return, relaxing her posture to mimic his. </p><p> </p><p>“Apologies, my lady,” he said. “There was much for me to attend to.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha smirked playfully and eyed the hammer behind him. “Not too busy for games, I see.” she said. She wanted to know more about the weapon he wielded. If it was the source of his power, then she had to be sure he was unarmed on their wedding night. The Aesir followed her gaze and turned back to her with a small smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Would you like to try?” he said. </p><p> </p><p>She looked up into his inhuman eyes and nodded. He gestured for her to go ahead and she turned her attention to the weapon in the centre of the room as he followed behind her. She couldn’t account for it, but the sight of it made her heart race. </p><p> </p><p>“Is there a trick to it?” she asked as she approached the weapon. </p><p> </p><p>It shimmered, the metal bright and reflecting many colours as though it were polished with an oil slick. Runes were engraved into the side of its strange, square body and it emanated the same unearthly power that the Aesir did. Natasha felt drawn to it— it seemed to sing and crackle with magic, and she felt a pull in her chest as she stared at it. She exhaled slowly and frowned as she studied the hammer. “It looks… heavy.” </p><p> </p><p>It took a lot to tear her gaze from the weapon. The young warlord hummed beside her, his gaze fixed on the weapon. “It is, in a way,” he said. “But lifting it is not about physical strength.” </p><p> </p><p>He looked at her then, his gaze strangely contemplative and she smiled weakly as she reached for the weapon. Natasha wrapped her hand over the pommel and her skin tingled just as it had when her betrothed had kissed her hand the first time they had met. She exhaled slowly to shake off the sensation and lifted, but the weapon wouldn’t budge. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t do it,” she said with a stilted little laugh. </p><p> </p><p>The young warlord smiled and effortlessly picked up the hammer and the peculiar energy he radiated seemed to surge to a nearly unbearable degree when he did. Natasha swallowed hard, her palms prickling. He seemed to channel his power through it, to use it as a conduit for his godly strength. He was close now, and the tiny nagging doubt she felt grew a bit more. She was swept up in his overwhelming aura, his presence. She was beginning to feel out of her depth. </p><p> </p><p>“Not many can,” he said, cutting through her thoughts, “it chooses who is worthy to wield it.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha smiled, her brow furrowing in confusion. “<em> It </em> chooses?” </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer laughed richly, kindly and he met her gaze. “Mjölnir,” he said. “It has a will of its own.” Natasha smiled, a little disbelieving, and reached out to trace the writing on the hammer, the tingling energy rushing through her once more. Natasha looked at him, the uncertainty she felt overwhelming her. She knew the legends as well as anyone else— Mjölnir, was the name of the hammer wielded by the thunder god. She pursed her lips, the question eating at her. </p><p> </p><p>“Is that who you are,” she asked, “Thor?” </p><p> </p><p>He smiled weakly at her and Natasha didn’t know what to make of him. “I am not worthy of that name,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>She frowned slightly, unsure of what he meant. But she withdrew her hands to hide them in her skirt as she watched him. “But isn’t that your name?” she pressed, “or have you fallen from the good graces of your Aesir kin?”</p><p> </p><p>She intended her words to come off as a light jest, but he shifted, his gaze turning thoughtful, and Natasha noted, a little sad. Perhaps she was on the right track with her comment. It seemed to have struck a nerve with him. From what she gathered, most people thought he <em> was </em> Thor and she was beginning to believe that as well. But why would he hide it? She searched his face and detected that this topic clearly troubled him. He seemed to shake himself a little and put on a smile. </p><p> </p><p>“You may call me Storm Bringer,” he said.  </p><p> </p><p>His history was clearly something of importance to him, though Natasha wasn’t sure if it was something she could use against him. She set the thought aside for now and focused on earning his trust instead. In the end, it didn’t matter what he was called. All she really needed to know was if her blade would be enough to kill him. </p><p> </p><p>“Storm Bringer,” she said softly. </p><p> </p><p>He eyed her thoughtfully for a moment and Natasha smiled at him. “Then I am Natasha, not ‘my lady’.” </p><p> </p><p>His answering smile was kind and she was pleased that he seemed to be warming up to her. “Very well, Natasha,” he said. “I hope that we can find the time to become better acquainted. I understand your father has a feast planned and has invited several of his friends to join in our revelry.”  </p><p> </p><p>Natasha smirked. Strucker had several weeks of festivities planned. The purpose was threefold: firstly to demonstrate his wealth and power to the young warlord, then to lull Storm Bringer’s warriors into a sense of camaraderie, and finally, he meant to combine his forces with his allies to crush Storm Bringer’s army after Natasha ensured he was dead. But watching the Aesir now, Natasha wasn’t so sure what his thoughts on all this were, or if he’d be so easily persuaded to trust his enemy. </p><p> </p><p>“If I know my father, he likely has festivity planned for each week leading up to the wedding, and then likely more for every week following.” Storm Bringer seemed amused at that and she moved a step closer, ignoring the humming field of electricity as she did. “I had hoped to sit next to you at the feast,” she said. “I’ve heard many tales of your conquests, but I want to hear you tell them.” She adopted her shy demeanor once more, becoming a naive young woman whose sole goal was to become his wife. “I want to know you.” </p><p> </p><p>He seemed receptive to her words, though his expression remained hard to read. Natasha thought she detected a hint of satisfaction in him like he was pleased she paid him such attention. </p><p> </p><p>“I want that too,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>She smiled, reassured that he seemed receptive to her. From behind them, there was a commotion before one of his men burst into the hall, and Storm Bringer’s attention immediately went to him. “My lord—” he looked sheepish to see that he had interrupted the Aesir while he had been talking with his bride. “I did not mean to interrupt.”  But Storm Bringer was patient, an easy smile on his face. </p><p> </p><p>“It is alright. Speak Erik, what troubles you?” </p><p> </p><p> “You are needed on the beaches, lord,” he said. “There is a… <em> dispute </em>among the Shieldmaidens.”</p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer laughed at that. “Ah,” he said. “That <em> is </em> trouble.” He turned to Natasha apologetically. “I am afraid I must leave you my—” he caught himself before he called her ‘my lady’ and gave her a small smile. “Natasha.” </p><p> </p><p>She swallowed and was glad for the out. She didn’t know how much more of the powerful aura surrounding him she could take, but she made herself step a little closer with a gentle laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“My Natasha?” She covered her mouth as if amused. “All is forgiven,” she said softly. “Only promise me that you’ll leave a place for me at your table so I may pour you ale and hear of your adventures.” </p><p> </p><p>There was a kindness to his eyes that gave her hope he might learn to like her, to trust her enough to let his guard down. “Aye, of course,” he said. “Until then my Natasha.” </p><p> </p><p>She laughed at that and he gave her one last fleeting look before he turned to his man and listened to him explain the situation as they left the mead hall. When he left, Natasha felt herself relax. It was as if her body were tensed and coiled in his overwhelming presence and she finally let go. She exhaled slowly before turning heel and leaving the room to collect her thoughts.  </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>As Natasha made her way back to her room, she counted this trip a success. She had learned two important things: firstly, that Storm Bringer’s weapon was enchanted and no one but him could wield it; and secondly, that his warriors would likely be impossible to crack without hard interrogation tactics if they were loyal to the point of zealotry. She would be needing to approach this differently if she wanted more personal information. Natasha sighed and watched the distant woods as she picked her path back to her little abode. The day was typically grey, the sound of the distant ships and sea could be heard under the bustle of the town. The ground was spongy as she made her way toward Strucker’s longhouse, the grass yellowed and pale as the snow receded and spring set in. But the wind still had a bite to it, her breath swirled in a wispy fog as she spotted the dark bird circling the treeline in the distance. </p><p> </p><p>Recognizing her messenger bird, Natasha quickly returned to her turf house and opened the shutters, throwing her cloak over the sill as she turned and locked the door shut behind her. The messenger bird quietly flew in and landed on the post of her bed as she turned to the open window. It appraised her with a curious tilt of the head, a small packet tied to its leg. Natasha took its leg and gently removed the message as the bird hopped and flapped its wings. When she untied the message, she stroked his breast and it nipped at her hand, playfully pulling at her index finger with its beak. </p><p> </p><p>“Alright,” she said with the barest hint of a real smile, “give me a moment.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha unwrapped a crust of bread she had saved for the bird and it snatched it, appraising her again with its head cocked before it took off once more. The bitter wind gusted in and she prepared to close the shutters, but she watched it go for a moment, its black body becoming smaller and smaller against the grey sky.  It was foolish, but sometimes she wondered what it must feel like to fly. When she was very young, she used to dream of it often. She was a bird, flying far, far away from her life. She imagined the rush of wind, the loneliness of the sky, the people below like ants. Natasha’s hand curled around the message tightly as the crow disappeared into the distant green and she shut the window. Slowly, she unfurled the coded message and read her next course of action. </p><p> </p><p><em> He pays double </em> , the note said, <em> or his life is forfeit. Help inbound. Stay course, gather information, complete honeytrap and graduate. We will welcome you back as Black Widow.  </em></p><p> </p><p>So the Widows expected her to extort more money from Strucker. That gave her a small measure of satisfaction. Her mission was still on, and she felt a small flicker of pride that they had already picked out her Widow name for her. It spoke of the Red Room’s trust in her to complete the mission. But they seemed to recognize the degree of difficulty her target being Aesir had added to the mission. Natasha scanned the last line with a frown. Help inbound… who would they send to assist her? </p><p> </p><p>She stood and threw the message into the hearth and set it alight, watching the fire consume the coded message. She would find out soon enough, she supposed. A celebration feast was planned for the end of the week to welcome Storm Bringer and the other warlords arriving for the peace talks, and her eventual wedding. Perhaps she might expect her help to arrive then. </p><p> </p><p>Her attention was torn from the fire when she heard a scream from outside. Natasha frowned and left the hearth to open her door a crack and peer outside. Just behind the storage buildings near the longhouse, a thrall woman was between three of Strucker’s men. They cornered her, their body language predatory. Natasha could imagine the things they might be saying to her and a flash of anger shot through her, her hands curling into tight fists for a brief moment before she turned and sat back by the hearth to watch the message burn. She would be a Widow soon, and she chided herself for letting her emotions get the better of her. That had always been her greatest weakness, her mistresses had told her. One day she would shed her empathy, her humanity. It would come with time, with more training, until she would be unbreakable. When another scream sounded from outside, she sighed. She wished that time would come sooner. But an answering cry echoed across the hillside, and Natasha turned to watch the door with a frown. That wasn’t the woman’s voice. </p><p> </p><p>She opened the door a crack to see another man had stepped in, giving the thrall woman a chance to flee while the men set upon him instead. One of Strucker’s men was bowed in the mud, and his posture suggested the Northman had broken his nose. But he quickly recovered and attacked with his two companions. It was hardly a fair fight. Three versus one were not good odds for anybody, but the Northman was physically much smaller than his three assailants, his head only coming up to about their shoulders. Natasha watched with growing interest as he dodged and weaved around his attackers. She didn’t recognize him. She was certain she would remember a man of his stature. Maybe he was one of the few who stayed with the ships. </p><p> </p><p>The Northman was fast, holding his own against his opponents, but one of Strucker’s men caught him with a right cross to his jaw and he went down into the mud. They really set in on him then, smashing his face with their fists, kicking and stomping his ribs as he curled in the dirt. It was cowardly to beat on a man like that, but he was a fool for stepping in. Natasha watched him for a moment longer before Strucker’s men eventually fatigued and grew disinterested with the man now that he was unmoving and he was given a final kick to the ribs. The man with the broken nose spat on the Northman and the three brutes turned and left. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha watched coolly as the Northman lay sprawled on his side in the mud. It was beginning to snow now, white flakes drifting idly as she waited to see if he’d recover.  Perhaps he was dead and therefore no longer her problem and she could return to planning her next moves. But he moved, his hands sliding to brace himself as he struggled to flip himself onto his stomach. Natasha chewed her lip, watching him for a moment. What harm could it do to have more information about Storm Bringer’s men? Especially one she had never seen before. She turned and grabbed her cloak, drawing it around her shoulders before she crossed the courtyard toward him. </p><p> </p><p>As she approached, she began to create a mental profile of him. He was slight, his body agile and wiry. As was the style of most Northmen, the sides and back of his head were shaven and the rest of his hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Natasha estimated it would be about shoulder-length if he let it down long. He wasn’t bearded and Natasha had to wonder if it was because he was young or he simply couldn’t grow one. Her lips quirked into a hint of an annoyed smile, she hadn’t seen him around with the other men who had come in. It surprised her to see one as small as him among their ranks. He tensed when he heard her approach, perhaps fearing Strucker’s men had returned. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you like getting hit?” Natasha said. </p><p> </p><p>The man paused, his breath swirling like ghosts in the cold before he shot her a brief glance. He smirked, took a steadying breath, and spat blood into the dirt. Gingerly, he pushed himself to kneel, his hand grasping his ribs. </p><p> </p><p>“Can’t say I do.” His voice was deep and warm. </p><p> </p><p>Like many of Storm Bringer’s warriors, he seemed poor, a simple man who joined the Aesir’s ranks as he swept through the lands once held by the old warlords. He was equipped with whatever he could afford— in this case, a simple undyed grey tunic with padded linen armour, now sullied with mud. Natasha had to wonder if he wore the padded armor because he had no cloak to keep him warm. Natasha frowned when she got a better look at him.  It was hard to determine what damage he sustained under all that muck, but some wounds were obvious. A cut bled on his sharp cheekbone, and his right brow was bruised and swelling in what would surely become a black eye. His nose was bleeding in a steady red stream over his lips and chin. </p><p> </p><p>The Northman struggled to stand with a pained grunt and Natasha took him under the elbow to help him up. From this close, she could see he was likely blonde under all that mud and just a hair above her height. As he stood, his leg gave out and he stumbled and Natasha steadied him against her body. When she touched him, he finally met her gaze with a look of perplexity. He had the most beautiful eyes— blue like calm waters. But there was a fire in them, righteous anger burning deep within his core. He seemed to want to fight the world, and as much as she found that ridiculous, he looked at her so seriously that for a moment she believed he could. What a foolish notion, a foolish way to live life. She still held him close and he set his proud jaw before backing off. He studied her for a moment before he paused, turned his head, and spat again. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re Strucker’s daughter,” he said. His tone was almost accusatory. He looked at her again with that strange intensity and Natasha did her best not to bristle. It felt as though he could see straight through her mask and into her heart.  He paused again as if unsure of what else to say to her. “I’ve ruined your cloak.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha smiled at that, looking down to see she was covered in muck and spotted with his blood. “It's nothing," she said. “Come sit, let me have a look at you.” </p><p> </p><p>He said nothing as she led him to the empty storage buildings, leaning on her for support. She sat him down and he wiped his bloody nose and mouth with the back of his hand, his expression wary as he watched her. She ignored him and set to work pulling water from the nearby well for him. </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry— but did you want somethin’?” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha snorted. So far every one of Storm Bringer’s men treated her with some measure of courtesy except for him. What gave him such boldness to behave in such a manner? It was interesting. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t very well see my future husband’s man left face down in the mud,” she said as she drew up the water. “That wouldn’t be very hospitable of me.” She put on her most charming smile and handed him the bucket. He took it hesitantly, a frown building on his face. </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>So far she had only really uncovered what he looked like, but something about him interested her. Natasha knew Storm Bringer’s warriors by now— she had a general feel of who they were, who was friends with whom, and how they spent their free time. They were generally kind toward her, likely out of respect for their lord. But not him. She wanted a better picture of who he was, so she pressed.</p><p> </p><p>“Though I suppose your state is to be expected. Three men versus one is hardly a fair fight.” </p><p> </p><p>He sniffed and spat red before cupping his hands and bringing the water to his face to wash the mud from his skin. He wiped the water from his eyes, dipped his hands into the water again, and gave his face a hard scrub. Natasha frowned, her patience wearing thin as she watched him ignore her to abuse his injured face. </p><p> </p><p>“Stop it,” she said sharply, “You’re making it worse.” </p><p> </p><p>She held him firmly by the shoulder and he stopped, his gaze drifting to her hand before looking up at her. She sighed and took off her cloak, wet the corner in the basin, and held it to the cut. He was thoughtful, his expression softening a little as she held him still and cleaned the dirt from the wound.</p><p> </p><p>“Fair had nothin’ to do with it,” he finally answered. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha frowned, keeping her gaze focused on dabbing the blood from his cheek. His ideals were mystifying. </p><p> </p><p>“What were you hoping to do then?” she asked. “Impress that girl? Prove yourself?” </p><p> </p><p>He chuckled then and Natasha bristled. He made it seem like she was the one who was being foolish. </p><p> </p><p>“No,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>“Then why get involved?” This wasn’t Natasha, Strucker’s daughter, speaking and she knew it. But he was getting under her skin now and she was irritated. “Why get involved if you know you won’t win?” </p><p> </p><p>He shook his head. “It wasn’t about winning.” </p><p> </p><p>Natsha applied the wet cloak to his cut much too hard and he flinched and sucked in a pained breath. That made no sense. If it wasn’t about showing off and peacocking, then what was it about? Protecting strangers? That was ludicrous. She made her expression carefully neutral and dipped her cloak back into the basin again.</p><p> </p><p>“What is it about then? Protecting those you perceive to be weaker than you?” That must be a very short list for one so small.</p><p> </p><p>He studied her neutral expression intently and Natasha suddenly felt scrutinized in a way she had never been before. Nobody ever looked at her this closely, nobody ever made her work so hard for her information. He didn’t seem to care who she was, or that she had a pretty smile. </p><p> </p><p>He narrowed his eyes, a frown building on his face. “You’re awfully cynical.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha shrugged and applied the cloak to his bloody nose to stop the bleeding. He took over holding it, his piercing gaze becoming irritating to her. </p><p> </p><p>“I just don’t see the point in sticking your neck out for someone. The world isn’t fair, protecting those weaker than you will teach them nothing.” </p><p> </p><p>He was strangely calm, his gaze studious. It occurred to her now that he was studying her as carefully as she studied him. He was building a profile on her to make out her character. Her stomach dropped. Maybe he was a spy. </p><p> </p><p>“And violence does?” he asked. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha stayed silent, occupying herself with other things to keep him from reading her. Violence was life’s greatest teacher and its lesson was cruel. If you were weak, then others simply took what was theirs.  The Northman should know that too, he served Storm Bringer, a warlord so powerful, his enemies were resorting to any and all means to be rid of him. But all of these politics meant nothing to Natasha. As a Widow, she would never be preyed on again. If she wasn’t strong, then she was dead.</p><p> </p><p>He frowned, her silence was answer enough. “If you could stop it, wouldn’t you? If you could prevent someone’s suffering…”</p><p> </p><p>This was a futile direction of the discussion. Preventing one incident served no purpose. There would be others. Suffering was often just collateral damage in this never-ending struggle for control. It could even be traded like a commodity. “And end up like you?” she said sharply, “What did it get you in the end?” </p><p> </p><p>He was quiet, the fire in his striking blue eyes pierced through her. He looked like he had a dozen things to say, a hundred rebuttals. He exhaled sharply as though he would argue but he watched her carefully instead, perhaps knowing that he wouldn’t sway her from her opinion. “Why are you helping me?” he said finally. “If that’s what you believe, why didn’t you just leave me in the dirt?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha had a job to do, that was why. She was determined to know the makeup of Storm Bringer’s army and that included knowing who this infuriating man was. “You ask too many questions,” Natasha said. </p><p> </p><p>He fell into silence then, his gaze unsettling as he stared at her. She didn’t like the fire in his eyes, the way he seemed to study her. She wished he wouldn’t. Everyone else left her alone, she could be all things to all people and they paid her no mind, she gave them what they wanted to see and adopted masks to escape their notice. But he seemed to want to see through that and it worried her. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s rude to stare,” she said. She whirled on him, adopting a high-class air to try and throw him off her true feelings. “As a matter of fact, you’re the surliest, most thankless low-born man I’ve ever met.”</p><p> </p><p>He smiled at her from beneath the cloak pressed to his nose. For all the rage she perceived in him, how strange that it manifested as kindness. “I’m trying to make sense of you is all,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>“And what is your conclusion?” </p><p> </p><p>He shrugged and gave her an easy smile. “I’ll let you know when I know.” </p><p> </p><p>She snorted then. He wouldn’t have the chance to know. She intended to never run into him again. “Very well—“</p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” he interjected.</p><p> </p><p>“Very well, Steve,” she amended. “When you’ve successfully made out my character, be sure to let me know.” </p><p> </p><p>He smirked, his eyes dangerously spirited and she had the sense that she shouldn’t have challenged him. “As you wish,” he said.  </p><p> </p><p>Natasha paled and narrowed her eyes at him. The snow swirled around them and Steve slowly stood, offering her bloody cloak back. </p><p> </p><p>She laughed at the gesture and didn’t try to hide her displeasure with him. “You keep it since you don’t appear to have one of your own.” </p><p> </p><p>When he smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes. His teeth were bright red. “You’re too kind, lady.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha bristled and shook her head, leaving him without another word. She could feel his fiery stare on her back as she retreated. It unnerved her but wasn’t wholly unexpected. Storm Bringer would be a fool not to employ spies of his own and now she had to factor that into her mission planning. She sighed and chewed her lip. Her discussion with Steve was too close to her own feelings and not those of her alias. She needed to be more careful about what she said, and had to assume Storm Bringer had eyes everywhere.</p><p>Turning to steal a glance at her new enemy, Natasha’s lips parted in surprise to find him watching the ground at his feet, her cloak tucked under his arm, hand clutching his injured ribs. He looked troubled, angry in a way she could not account for. His rage seemed to go deeper than being on the receiving end of a beating or having a conversation with a wealthy warlord’s daughter, and it chilled her to see. His anger seemed to eat him alive. Steve left without looking back. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha swallowed, not liking the idea of such a man watching her. He seemed unpredictable, strange in a way she didn’t like. She turned her gaze skyward to watch the snow drift and dance, her breath swirling around her. A change in plans was needed and she returned to her turf house to plan her next steps very carefully. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A new player appears! Enter Steve. </p><p>I wanted to get the first two chapters up pretty close together as they set up the rest of the story. </p><p>For height references in case you're having trouble picturing it: Natasha is 5'3'' (160 cm), Steve is 5'4'' (162 cm). And I forgot to add, Storm Bringer is 6’4” (195 cm) lol. Steve and Natasha are pretty smol in this story! </p><p>I'll see about posting a chapter next week, but I promise nothing! OvO'''</p><p>Stay healthy and safe everyone!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Tête-à-Tête</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After her encounter with Storm Bringer’s spy, Natasha lay low. She continued her routine so as not to draw suspicion— mingling about town, attending to Strucker when he called on her for reports (which was more often than she would’ve liked), and remaining pleasant and unassuming. Much to her relief, she never saw the small Northman again after their first encounter, though part of that unnerved her. It seemed easy for him to evade her notice, even when she was keeping an eye out for him. That could be dangerous, especially if he was watching her and reporting on her dealings. Instead, she committed to doing nothing out of the ordinary. It was an irritating complication, but she seemed to be compounding those these days. </p><p> </p><p>After receiving her note from the Widows, Natasha had informed him of the new price of her work and while he didn’t take kindly to it, her blade pressed to his throat seemed like an immediately worse alternative. But over the course of the next few days, Strucker became increasingly anxious. He and Storm Bringer were beginning peace talks and from what she could tell, it was going about as well as their first meeting. Storm Bringer seemed to want to act in the best interest of the people Strucker subjugated, but Strucker either completely agreed and added nothing of value to the treaty, or he was unwilling to cede control over certain lands, even in pretense. She imagined the thunder rolling overhead was because of her future husband’s frustration. </p><p> </p><p>Each meeting with Storm Bringer agitated Strucker further and he began to want reassurance that this plan would succeed. He requested her presence often, demanding to know what she was doing. His constant need for her attention was easily explained away as wedding negotiation,but it took up time she could be spending toward gathering information on Storm Bringer. He only needed to know that she was doing her job and the details didn’t concern him. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Natasha pulled her hair into a braid and watched the distant gloom of the forest outside her window. Today, the first of Strucker’s allies would be arriving— a powerful man named Agger who had once sworn to kill Strucker and conquer his lands. But desperation made for strange bedfellows, and now they had formed a reluctant alliance against Storm Bringer. Agger and his army came under the pretense of swearing fealty to the young warlord and their third ally, a warlord by the name of Ross, was coming soon after to do the same. This was all going according to plan, but she couldn’t help but feel the mission slowly spiralling out of control. There were too many variables being added to the mix. She was having to keep track of not only Storm Bringer, but Strucker, Agger, Ross, and now Storm Bringer’s spies. Natasha would have to act quickly to course correct until her backup arrived. She sighed and drew the shutters closed as she undressed and pulled on a plain brown tunic and breeches.  </p><p> </p><p>After making her usual appearance in town, Natasha retreated to execute her next phase of reconnaissance. The arrival of Agger meant she had a new opportunity to gather intelligence. By this point, everyone knew Natasha, and seemed to be familiar with one another, but they wouldn’t know Agger’s forces. She would pose as a freeman, a warrior. Agger’s men would assume she was one of Storm Bringer’s, and Storm Bringer’s men would assume she belonged to Agger. </p><p> </p><p>Stealing gear was simple— she took pieces here and there from both Storm Bringer and Strucker’s warriors, and even lifted pieces from Strucker’s longhouse and supply rooms until she had a full ensemble. She had a Northman-style helmet with a chainmail curtain that hung like a veil all the way around her face and neck. The rest of her ensemble was plain and unassuming. She wore long-sleeved, quilted linen armor to disguise her figure and added lifts inside her boots to boost her height by a few inches. She still wasn’t tall by any means, but it would be enough to throw off any casual observers. </p><p>Natasha pushed the shutters open again as she watched the distant woods. She pulled on her boots and locked the door from the inside. Then she waited. It wasn’t half an hour before banners appeared in the distance, heralding the arrival of Agger and his men. </p><p> </p><p>Carefully, Natasha tucked her hair into a woolen cap and donned the helmet, adjusting the chain mail curtain to cover her face and neck entirely. To complete the disguise, Natasha adjusted her posture and carried a long knife at her side. She then quietly leapt out the window, and closed the shutters behind her, timing her departure just as Agger’s men entered the small village. </p><p> </p><p>As she made it into town, the small village was overcrowded. Between Storm Bringer’s, Strucker’s, and now Agger’s men, the village was quickly running out of room. As usual, Storm Bringer’s warriors milled about outside the mead hall, their expressions tense and flinty as they appraised the newly arriving troops. Natasha fell into step just behind them as if she were returning from the woods. Agger brought about fifty men with him, their collective breaths rising like steam in the chill of the spring air. Their boots squelched in the soft earth as they arrived, exhausted and wary. A man she assumed was Agger marched out in front of his men, obviously searching for Strucker. He was a man of about forty years, Natasha estimated. Dark haired, bearded, and, like Strucker, seemed to carry with him an intolerable arrogance. </p><p> </p><p>From the corner of her eye, Natasha spotted a messenger running toward Strucker’s longhouse and a moment later the old warlord arrived, Storm Bringer at his side. His unearthly energy was unmistakable and it quickly caught the attention of Agger’s men, who backed away in alarm. For the entire morning, Storm Bringer and Strucker had been talking peace, and likely her bride price. Strucker wanted to recoup some of the money he owed the Widows somehow and extorting wealth from Storm Bringer seemed a viable option. </p><p> </p><p>Upon seeing the young warlord, Agger visibly paled, his eyes widening before he clenched his jaw and steeled himself. </p><p> </p><p>“Agger, my friend,” Strucker announced. He appeared relieved to be away from Storm Bringer and, Natasha surmised, was glad his ally was finally here. She understood the uncertainty of acting alone on a mission beyond her capabilities. She hoped her own backup would arrive soon.  </p><p> </p><p>Agger approached, eyeing the young warlord warily, and they clasped arms in greeting. Natasha smirked to see him visibly jump at the contact with the Aesir. But Storm Bringer had the grace to turn his gaze elsewhere after greeting his enemy, allowing Strucker and Agger to greet one another in turn. Instead, he scanned the new troops, eyes calculating as he sized up their numbers. When his gaze passed over her without notice, Natasha was relieved. There was no reason he should know her when she was dressed like this, but it reassured her to know this god wasn’t all knowing. </p><p> </p><p>Strucker quietly gave Agger directions on where his men would set up camp, which he relayed to his second in command, and the three men returned to Strucker’s longhouse to properly greet one another and share in drinking mead and ale. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha was glad of it— something about Storm Bringer’s inhuman eyes and presence always set her on edge. She quickly turned and left, mingling near Agger’s men as they marched through town to make camp at the far end of the village behind the turf houses serving as barracks for Strucker’s men. </p><p> </p><p>It took some time for the men to get settled, and Natasha nonchalantly lingered by the edges of groups, keeping out of sight and occupying herself with menial tasks to avoid suspicion. Storm Bringer’s warriors were talking quietly amongst themselves, keeping away from Agger’s men as they made camp. As she slowly worked her way closer to the mead hall, she spotted a group of four of Storm Bringer’s men laughing and talking as they loitered around the back of the building. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha was about to move closer when a sudden crack of thunder overhead startled her and she ducked behind a small storage building just within earshot of the group. She turned her gaze skyward, her heart pounding. Storm Bringer must be displeased— she could imagine Strucker or Agger offending him in some way.  But her attention was drawn back to the group of the Aesir’s warriors when she heard one speak in hushed tones. Natasha slid down against the building as if she were fixing the strap on her boot. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you think Storm Bringer will be alright by himself with those two snakes?” the first man asked. He was blonde, simply dressed, though his manner of speech suggested he was of a higher class. </p><p> </p><p>His companion— a woman—  turned to him matter-of-factly. “Aye, of course. He’s Aesir, nothing can kill him.” </p><p> </p><p>The third man, bearded and huge, spat in the dirt. “Filthy fuckin’ cowards. They rained chaos on us for near ten years and now they’re wantin’ peace? I can’t believe Storm Bringer agreed to marry Strucker’s bitch daughter. Why not just slay them and be done with it?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s heart leapt. This was exactly what she wanted to hear. They would never say such things in front of her, or in front of their lord, for that matter. She tied off her boot strap and sagged a little as though she were exhausted and intended to rest. </p><p> </p><p>The woman spoke again. “He tires of war,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>The boorish man turned emphatically, his voice rising a little. “But marrying?” The woman shot him a sharp look and he quieted a little. “What’s in his head?”</p><p> </p><p>The fourth man, who had remained silent until now piped up. He had a kindly voice and Natasha added that to her profile of him. “Peace, I suppose. I’ve seen how heavily this war weighs on him. How many of us has he buried since this all began?” </p><p> </p><p>The group fell into sullen silence for a moment, each of them contemplative. The woman inhaled and spoke again, obviously trying to lighten the mood. “Aye, and have you <em> seen </em> his bride? Do you think she’s Aesir, too? I’ve never seen a woman so pretty. I’d settle for peace if it meant I’d have a wife that looked like her.” </p><p> </p><p>The brutish man grinned, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I wonder if he’s ever had a human woman before.” He nudged the first man, who looked troubled and hadn’t spoken after his first remark. “Imagine the children he’ll put in her—” </p><p> </p><p>He was cut off when the woman punched him in the arm. “Oh shut it—”  </p><p> </p><p>“But what of poison?” The first man spoke again. He had ignored the conversation until now, his expression clearly worried as he fretted about Storm Bringer’s safety.</p><p> </p><p>The group moved then, trying to hush their friend as they stole hasty glances around. Natasha ducked out of the way around the corner of the building. That was something she was wondering about as well. She preferred the finality of her blade, but if Storm Bringer really was as invincible as his warriors suggested, she might try poison. </p><p> </p><p>The fourth man spoke again, his voice quiet. “Ah I forget you’ve only just joined us. One of the warlords, Zemo tried that.” Natasha heard the huge brutish man spit again at the sound of the fallen warlord’s name. “Had his serving girl pour him a deadly draught, he did. Lord barely blinked as he drank it down. I wish I’da seen his face when he realized Storm Bringer was unaffected.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha frowned. That wasn’t at all what she had hoped to hear. Their words could be grossly exaggerated, but she wouldn’t doubt it if it were true.</p><p> </p><p>His large bearded friend piped up then. “Runt saw it— that small blue-eyed man. Crafty sonofabitch. What’s he called?” </p><p> </p><p>But his question was ignored as the woman added to her friend’s story. Natasha wondered if they were speaking of Storm Bringer’s spy— <em> Steve </em>, her brain supplied. At least they had given her a possible lead. Perhaps Steve was closer to Storm Bringer than she had anticipated. She played with the hem of her tunic thoughtfully. Runt, they called him. Their talk suggested he wasn’t close with any of them. </p><p> </p><p>“Aye and then Storm Bringer summoned a bolt of lightning so bright, it turned night to day.” </p><p> </p><p>“They say there was nothing left of that prick when the lord was finished. There was nothing but ash.” The fourth man mused. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps reassured by his friend’s stories, the first man added, “I heard he tried to look upon the Thunderer’s face and when he did, he showed him his true form.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a beat of silence before the brutish one spoke. “Which is?” </p><p> </p><p>“A bolt of lightning.” </p><p> </p><p>All three of his friends laughed then, the big one taking him under his arm to squeeze him tightly as he flailed. His weak protestations of <em> it's true! </em> were met with laughter. </p><p> </p><p>From around the corner of the building, another of Storm Bringer’s men stumbled on them and they straightened. “Are you up for a game?” he asked with a smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Always,” the large man said as he released his friend with a shove.</p><p> </p><p>“Aye, then there’s a competition brewing between the three of us parties. A hunt.” </p><p> </p><p>They moved away, leaving earshot as they followed their comrade. Natasha’s heart raced, her eyes bright with excitement. This group had some promising insight— she not only had a lead on who might know more about Storm Bringer, but she better understood their dynamics as well. Slowly, Natasha stood and stretched, giving her targets a head start to avoid suspicion before trailing after them, choosing a different path into the village centre. As she watched the group, she saw them heading for the woods along with several of Agger, Strucker, and Storm Bringer’s warriors. A hunt would offer an excellent opportunity to gather more information. She shot a glance at the longhouse up on the hill. Nobody needed Natasha around today, and with Storm Bringer and her employer occupied, she wouldn’t be missed. </p><p> </p><p>She turned and prepared to follow into the woods, but didn’t see a young girl cut across her path until she was underfoot. Natasha bumped into the girl, knocking her down into the mud and nearly tumbling onto her. The girl cried out and scrambled, muttering apologies. She looked poor, Natasha noted, and very young. There weren’t many civilian women and girls at this camp, especially not ones so young— she must be a thrall, and likely one of Agger’s since she didn’t recognize her. Natasha watched the young girl wallow in the muck, her head bowed as she cowered as if expecting to be hit. Natasha’s insides squirmed at the sight. It reminded her of what she once was. The young girl hurried to pick up her dropped items, and Natasha froze, colour rushing into her cheeks. Children made her uneasy.</p><p> </p><p>She remembered how helpless she was as her parents discussed her price. She didn’t remember how much she had been worth anymore. Nor did she remember her mother’s face, or how she sounded, or what her last words to her were, but sometimes she thought she had eyes like hers— green like spruce needles. The Widow who bought her liked her as a candidate, she liked her red hair and pretty green eyes. There was potential in her features, she remembered her saying. She might grow to be beautiful and that was a prized weapon for the Widows. In the end, she was right, Natasha supposed. She had grown into a beautiful woman like all her sisters. But it didn’t matter— the woman who bought her was long dead now. She had never lived to see her candidate rise above the other girls. </p><p> </p><p>Slowly, Natasha knelt, helping the girl pick up her items as if in a trance. When she met the young girl’s gaze, she saw her childhood self— a young girl reaching out for help. Natasha knew it was futile to offer it, the world would deny her again and again until she finally broke. But she handed the girl her items in silence and helped her to her feet, taking a moment to brush the mud from the girl’s dress. Today didn’t have to be the day she learned  that, and Natasha didn’t have to be the one to teach her. She couldn’t bring herself to break the spirit of a child as her mistresses had done to her, not yet anyway. It would come with time, she was told. When she was a full Widow, she would understand that showing kindness and mercy were acts of cruelty, that helping this girl was a sign of weakness. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha moved her sleeve over her wrist to gently wipe the muck from the little girl’s cheek, her blue eyes wide and questioning. </p><p> </p><p>“Be careful, little one,” Natasha said quietly. </p><p> </p><p>The girl nodded and left her then, stealing a glance back at her as she made her way to the longhouse. Natasha turned away, trying to shake off this terrible feeling churning inside her. She hated to be reminded of her childhood. It served no purpose for the mission at hand. She didn’t remember the life she had before, but her training broke her piece by piece, stripped her of weakness. She had been forced to grow up fast, to become stronger than her sisters and brothers if she wanted to live. That’s all that life was— a race to the top. And that’s where she wanted to be. Even if it was no life at all, it was hers, and she wouldn’t allow anyone to take it from her.  She outlasted so many, fought and clawed her way to where she was now. She was so close. Once she was on top, nobody would take anything from her again. She could control her fate, learn to feel nothing, live to prove she was strong. She was destined to be a Widow, born for that purpose, chosen for that role. That was hers. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha balled her hands into tight fists as she stalked toward the woods, shaking her head as if willing these thoughts to leave her. For a moment, she forgot herself and her posture slipped. This was the failing her mistresses had tried to train out of her. She was predisposed to feel, to let her emotion overtake her. It made her sloppy. Taking a quick look around, she scanned the warriors moving about the village. No one paid her any mind, and she was relieved for a moment, before she caught sight of someone leaning against one of the turf houses across the courtyard, watching her. Her heart sank to her knees when she saw it was that short little Northman. </p><p> </p><p>Steve looked different now that he wasn’t covered in muck— his hair was the colour of honey and pulled away from his face in a knot, framing his high, sharp cheekbones. The sides of his head were recently shorn, though she noticed it was starting to grow out again. He had proud, handsome features and she wouldn’t have known him at all were it not for those same striking blue eyes and the cocksure way he carried himself. Natasha knew from his face that he had seen her, that he had witnessed the whole thing. He watched her from across the bustling village, his expression thoughtful. She could see him calculating, and Natasha suppressed the swirl of anger, of anxiety that welled in her. She shouldn’t have let her guard down to help that girl. She should’ve brushed past her, left her in the dirt. </p><p> </p><p>It was hard to know if he recognized her or not, so she ignored him, turning away to join the hunt. For all he knew, she was a visitor and there was no reason he should know it was her. But the sound of approaching footsteps made her heart sink and she shot a brief glance over her shoulder as Steve fell into step just behind her. She turned away, her heart racing as they walked in silence toward the woods. As she entered the treeline, he finally spoke.  </p><p> </p><p>“Are you one of Agger’s men?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha gritted her teeth and stayed silent, her gaze focused on the sprawling tangle of trees ahead of her. There was no way he could know it was her— at least, that’s what she hoped. She didn’t want to look at him for fear he would somehow have his suspicions confirmed. But he carried on by her side, his presence grating on her nerves as they wound between the trees, his breath rising in the cool air as he studied her. </p><p> </p><p>“Is that a habit of yours, picking people out of the mud?”</p><p> </p><p>Her anger boiled over and she grabbed him by the arm and backed him into a copse of trees. As his back hit the trunk of the tree, he let out a little breath and Natasha stepped into his space to trap him there. With her boots on, she was a little taller than him now and she leveraged that, leaning in close and squeezing his arm threateningly. “<em> Quiet </em>,” she hissed. </p><p> </p><p>He frowned for a moment, coolly taking in her expression. He had no reason to be afraid of her—  he had no idea what she was. Squeezing him harder, Natasha leaned in. If he wanted to, he could expose her, and she hated that he had any amount of power over her. But his lips parted in response, his arm solid and strong in her grasp as he tilted his head to meet her eyes. As soon as he looked at her, she knew with certainty that he recognized her. Anger burst through her in a warm rush and she seethed, pressing him against the tree as she realized that he had baited her into revealing herself. What a foolish mistake.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha studied him, searching for a reaction, a tell, <em> something </em> that would tell her what he was thinking, but he gave nothing away. From this close, she could see the beauty marks that flecked his cheeks and neck. The remains of his beating— a ring of mottled browns and purples made a crescent under his eye and over his cheekbone. She frowned. It seemed odd that he had healed this quickly. Steve’s full lips pulled into an amused smirk as he fixed those fierce blue eyes on her. He reached up and took her wrist and her brow furrowed at the contact. His expression egged her on, almost dared her to try him. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. Was he patronizing her? For a moment she calculated if anyone would miss him if she were to make him disappear right now, but she knew how tense things were, and if Storm Bringer’s little soldier suddenly went missing, it might spark war sooner than she wanted and this would all be for nothing. She gritted her teeth and waited to hear his demands, but he only took in her appearance with great interest and curiosity. He still held her, his fingers rough and calloused against the delicate skin of her wrist. Perhaps he could feel the race of her heart as she contemplated killing him. Something told her he was greatly amused, that he <em> liked </em> seeing her dressed like this and she nearly scoffed at him. </p><p> </p><p>“What’re you thinking?” he asked, his gaze flicking her up and down, a ghost of that easy smile pulling at his lips. She bristled to see it, his deep voice sending a prickle of irritation through her. But his words were soft, just between them. “Are you bored? Wedding planning isn’t exciting enough for you?” </p><p> </p><p>That was surprising; he didn’t seem to want anything from her. Natasha narrowed her eyes and released him with a shove, breaking his grasp on her wrist before she turned heel and stalked away, moving deeper into the woods until the sights and sounds of the distant village had faded completely.There was a brief pause before she heard Steve follow after her. </p><p> </p><p>“Wait—” he said, jogging to catch up. She ignored him, picking up her pace to get away. “My lady—” </p><p> </p><p>She kept walking, her plan to eavesdrop utterly ruined. How did he find her out so easily? Worse still, how could she have let this happen? </p><p> </p><p>“Natasha, wait,” he called loudly. </p><p> </p><p>She whirled on him again, eyes scanning her surroundings to make sure nobody was around to overhear them. She stalked back to him, furious.  “Are you trying to expose me?” she said, “or do you like holding this over my head?” </p><p> </p><p>His answering smile told her that he did, and she resisted the urge to punch him. </p><p>“I don’t plan to,” he said. As if she would believe that. Why wouldn’t he report this? It was the most interesting thing she’d done in days. Steve cocked his head as he appraised her. “I just didn’t think you were the type to do something like this.”</p><p> </p><p>She needed him off her back, she needed to redirect him from looking too hard into her movements. So she lied, slipping into a new layer of her persona. “What do you mean by that?” she asked softly, feigning fragility. </p><p> </p><p>“You seemed to me like the standard rich lady. Naive, maybe a little self important.” </p><p> </p><p>That was what she wanted him to think, but he seemed to be slipping further away from that conclusion after she had confessed her cynical worldview to him and especially now that he discovered her dressed as a man. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re cruel,” she said, giving him her best look of hurt. “After I was so kind to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s answering look was sharp and her heart skipped a beat. He was studying her again, searching for the lie in her words. “Kindness, was it?” She made no reply, anger burning in her core like a terrible fire, and she did her best not to let it show. “I can’t help but think your kindness came with terms and conditions.” He trailed off, his piercing eyes holding her as he took a step closer.  Natasha didn’t back down, refusing to be cowed by him. He was so unbearably close, his expression tense. “Or were you lying when you said that protecting others served no purpose?”</p><p> </p><p>Although she was slightly taller than him now, he made her feel small, insignificant. His presence was intimidating in a way she couldn’t explain. He was sharp and observant and had no qualms about telling her exactly what he thought of her. That either made him very dangerous or very stupid. Natasha swallowed hard and turned her gaze to the ground ahead of them, her mind racing. He was clearly on to her, but she needed to regain control of the narrative. He had called her a “standard rich lady”, suggesting he held some contempt for the upper class. So she leaned into that. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s no way to speak to your better,” she said, testing to see his reaction.  </p><p> </p><p>As her words washed over him, the shift in his demeanor was immediate. Before he was amused, perhaps pleased with discovering her in disguise, but now he was furious. His expression cooled as he leaned in. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you really believe that?” his voice was frighteningly quiet and Natasha knew she had found a sore spot. She filed that away. </p><p> </p><p>Not wanting to push further just yet, Natasha dropped her gaze. When she made no response he scoffed, clearly disgusted.</p><p> </p><p>“That girl you helped, were you better than her, too?” He paused as if a thought occurred to him and he narrowed his eyes. “Is that somehow satisfying to you, Natasha? You swoop in after the damage is done, and play saviour to people you can step on?”</p><p> </p><p>Oh, he was very upset. She expected him to have some measure of restraint, but she was wrong. She played it off like she hadn’t meant to provoke him. </p><p> </p><p>“No—” she said, “no, I—”</p><p>   </p><p>But he cut her off, taking another step into her space. This time she backed away and he advanced again. “It must be easy to be the daughter of a tyrant.” His eyes were fiery, full of anger and she frowned. “You can collect broken people like items.You can feed on as much misery as you like.”  </p><p> </p><p>Natasha couldn’t help the flush of anger at his accusation. “Is that what you think of me?” she asked softly. “You think I <em> like </em> seeing others suffer?” She tried to calm herself, taking a steadying breath.  She was becoming heated again. Why was it so easy for him to get to her like this? It was as if his earnestness was a blade, a weapon he wielded to cut through to her core. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, Natasha,” he said, “What am I meant to think? That you’re a charming, unassuming simpleton? I don’t buy it. If that were true, then why are you dressed like this? Why do you act sweet one moment, then cynical the next? You’re as changeable as the weather.” </p><p> </p><p>She glowered, meeting his angry stare with one of her own. “As if I cared for the opinion of—”</p><p> </p><p>Steve clenched his jaw, advancing another step toward her. This time it was she who backed into a tree.  Her back hit the solid trunk and she flinched. Her breath was warm against the metal links concealing her face and Steve met her gaze through his thick, dark lashes. </p><p> </p><p>“Of what?” His voice was low, soft. She could see the flicker of his eyes, the tenseness of his expression. There was something so fierce about him, so wild. Her heart raced, her words stuck in her throat. “Say it,” he goaded. The fray of his deep voice sent a rush of goosebumps down the nape of her neck. “Tell me what I am.” </p><p> </p><p>She raised her chin, watching him closely. “A spy.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a beat. Steve searched her for a moment before he smiled, his eyes hard. His laugh was a short burst of breath against her chain mail covering. He backed away, turning from her to rub his face and Natasha felt herself relax. She was so tense she might’ve attacked him if he had gotten physical with her. Letting out a controlled breath, she studied his back, her heart racing, her cheeks flushed in an involuntary response she didn’t know how to interpret. </p><p> </p><p>“You haven’t answered me,” he finally said, ignoring her question. He turned around to face her again. “What are you doing out here dressed as you are?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha took a moment to collect herself. This was the closest she had ever come to having her cover identity discovered and she let the tension in her body uncoil. How closely did he watch her? </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe I want to see a hunt,” she said, as he walked at her side, “maybe I <em> am </em> bored and this is my chance to do something exciting before my wedding.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve was quiet at the mention of her wedding and she shot him a brief glance to see that he was deep in thought, his expression clouded. “In disguise?” he said. “You couldn’t ask someone to escort you?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha had the sense that that was not what he was truly thinking about and bristled at his questions as she kept focused ahead of her. “That’s not the same.”</p><p> </p><p>He seemed mystified by that, like she was subverting his expectations. Steve exhaled sharply, his breath rising like steam. “I’m no closer to understanding you,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Why did he need to? Steve seemed to try and control himself, his anger dissipating a little. In the afternoon light, the frost and remaining snow melted and shimmered, dripping from the branches of trees like jewels. The silence stretched between them until he finally dropped his gaze, his expression tense. In the distance Natasha could hear voices as warriors gathered somewhere off in the woods. She had committed to joining the hunt now as part of her character, though she was hardly in the mood to participate anymore. This setback had shaken her more than she would like to admit. </p><p> </p><p>She pushed herself from the tree, moving toward the gathering in the distance. It no longer surprised her when she heard Steve follow and she suppressed the irritation she felt. Why was he so determined? Anxiety gnawed at her insides and she chewed her lip. Because he wasn’t satisfied with her story? She sighed and continued on, Steve by her side. One thing still bothered her about him this time and she asked it without expectation of him answering truthfully. </p><p> </p><p>“How did you know it was me?” she said quietly. </p><p> </p><p>Steve shot her a brief glance, his expression softening a little when he met her gaze. She was surprised when he answered. “You’ve got a… gracefulness to you,” he said, rubbing his shaved head sheepishly. “You hid it well, but when you walked away from that little girl…” He knew her by the way she walked? He <em> must </em> be a spy. There was no way he wasn’t, but he didn’t seem to care if she knew it. “You move like a dancer.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha glanced at him to find he was watching the ground, his cheeks colouring as he spoke. With a tiny frown, she realized that he was embarrassed to admit he watched her. It was surely his job to do so, but it didn’t stop him from becoming flustered and shy when he talked about it. Natasha had no idea what to make of him anymore. She wondered if this was all a front, if that amusement he displayed earlier, or the shyness he showed now was a persona he slipped into to try and extract information from her. She was no closer to understanding him either, it seemed. </p><p> </p><p>She studied him, taking in his strong profile. He noticed her scrutiny and met her eyes, his expression guarded. They always seemed to be in a slow dance, a dangerous back and forth when they met as they tried to figure one another out. Natasha pursed her lips and quickened her pace, not caring if he kept up.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aaaah okay, so I managed to get this out somehow! Big thank you to my Beta reader for helping me get this done :)</p><p>For reference, Natasha is wearing full aventail chain mail on her helmet (it only leaves your eyes visible), and gambeson armor (which is several quilted layers of fabric that was surprisingly effective). </p><p>Check out my twitter for updates (@YeetaNo). Hopefully I can put something out next week as well, but we shall seeeeee.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Hunt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t long before Natasha and Steve joined the hunting party that gathered deep in the thicket. She came to a stop on the edge of the circle, staying just behind the group. She estimated about seventy people were here, a good mix of Storm Bringer’s, Strucker’s, and Agger’s warriors among them. At the centre of the group, Natasha recognized the blonde-haired man she had overheard worrying for Storm Bringer’s safety. He was talking loudly among a few others before he grinned and climbed the low branches of a nearby tree to issue a challenge to the crowd. </p><p> </p><p>“My lords,” he shouted mockingly over the din, “my ladies,” he added as he gestured to the shieldmaidens among them. “Soon we’ll all be the best of friends when our lord weds Strucker’s prized broodmare.” Laughter rippled through the crowd and beside her, Steve shifted. She shot him a look, surprised to find that he seemed uncomfortable with the barb at her expense. “But until that time, why not a little competition?” </p><p> </p><p>The answering call was deafening and Steve gently clasped her elbow. Natasha frowned and turned to find his expression concerned. What did he have to worry about? There were smiles, cheers and jeers from the crowd. “Bring back your kills, boast, and honour your lords with the biggest beast you can find! Give ‘em meat enough to feast for weeks!” </p><p> </p><p>A chorus of cheers sounded and with the challenge issued, the crowd quickly dispersed and men and women barreled past, setting out in teams to hunt. Warriors rushed past, nearly knocking her over, but Steve’s pulled her back out of the way, his grasp solid on her arm. She could’ve moved on her own and bristled in irritation that he intervened. She whirled around only to find that same worried expression on his face as he met her gaze. He let her go, his face unreadable as he watched the woods behind her. It was strange to realize that he was worried <em> for </em>her. Wouldn’t it have been more useful for his purpose if he had let her react to see how she responded? His response clued her in to the fact that he thought she needed protecting. At least that was an assurance that he didn’t think she was dangerous. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha shrugged away from him and set off in the opposite direction. She had intended to tag along with Storm Bringer’s men to see what else they might say without knowing she was their lord’s bride, but now that Steve knew she was here, that plan was ruined and she had to go through the motions of being interested in this stupid hunt. This was all an annoying waste of time that she couldn’t afford, but she had made her character out to want this, so she had to at least pretend to be interested. If she was lucky, maybe she would bore Steve into leaving her alone. He followed close behind, his footsteps unmistakable as he stayed by her side. The other warriors quickly dispersed as they formed parties and set out in search of prey and soon they were alone again. So far, she hadn’t been lucky at all. The silence grew long between them and Natasha finally grew tired of this nonsense. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you have something better to do?” she asked. </p><p> </p><p>Steve chuckled, the audacious bastard. “I did, but this is far better,” he said. It made her wonder what else he did with his time. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha sighed and stopped in a small clearing. She didn’t see anyone else around and she was sure they had run off any prey with their crashing footsteps through the tangle of trees. “Is it your job to follow me?” Maybe a direct approach would work. </p><p> </p><p>Steve stopped and scratched his cheek.“My job?” He smiled humourlessly. “No, it’s not my job.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing at his response. Holding her higher class over him did nothing but provoke him to anger, but perhaps he’d respect his lord. “Then you’re not needed here and you are pestering me. Is that what your lord would want you to do?” she asked lightly. The threat was there, but he seemed undeterred. His lips twisted in a smirk as he appraised her and Natasha tucked his reaction away. He wasn’t afraid of offending his lord. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not sure he cares what I do,” he said.  </p><p> </p><p>That was odd, he didn’t seem to hold the same high regard for his lord as all his fellow Northmen did. Natasha searched him, interested in his response. </p><p> </p><p>“I thought Storm Bringer cared about his warriors,” she said. “I thought that none were beneath his notice.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve outright laughed at that, the sound bright and warm. But his laughter had an edge to it that told her it wasn’t quite genuine. It was not out of character for her to be confused, so Natasha didn’t try to hide what she felt. He was a baffling man, a series of contradictions that she couldn’t make heads or tails of. “I think you give him too much credit,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>His words seemed to imply that he had seen something of his lord that others hadn’t, or weren’t willing to speak of so openly. Natasha gave him her full attention then. Maybe this wasn’t a total waste of time anymore. Those warriors she eavesdropped on implied Steve had been close to Storm Bringer, but his words now suggested something of a resentment for him. If she played this carefully, Steve might prove to be the weak link in Storm Bringer’s chain. Natasha perked up, finally feeling like she had a breakthrough. Now she was determined to find out if this was just a front, or if he would give up some more vital information. </p><p> </p><p>“Your comrades would have me believe he’s a god,” she said coolly. “They say he wears his helmet because if anyone were to look upon his true form, they’d be struck dead by his power.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s smile was mystifying. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes bright with amusement. “A god, huh?” Natasha kept her reaction carefully neutral as she studied him closely. He didn’t appear to believe the stories of his comrades… “I’m not sure he thinks of himself as such.”</p><p> </p><p>“You sound as though you and he are close,” she observed.</p><p> </p><p>Steve shrugged and continued into the woods, ignoring her. “You’ve never been on a hunt, have you?” he said, switching topics. Natasha watched his back as he made his way through the tangle of trees. </p><p> </p><p>He was being cagey and his demeanor suggested he didn’t want to talk about this, or perhaps, that he didn’t really want to speak to her at all. Natasha sighed and followed. She supposed she hadn’t been on a hunt like this. Her prey was usually of a different sort. But she made herself smile, playing innocent. “What makes you think that?” </p><p> </p><p>He smirked. “You won’t be catching much without a bow,” he said. “Unless you’re planning on batting your lashes and nicely asking your prey to lie down and die for you.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “I wanted to join another group,” she said, “but now I’m stuck with <em> you. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Upon hearing her story, Steve snorted. “And now we’re full circle. I want to know why you’re really out here.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s smile soured and she was grateful the helmet she wore covered her face. “I told you, I had hoped to just watch. I’m no hunter.” </p><p> </p><p>He watched her with a tight little smile, his eyes hard. “Hah, I’ll add that to my list of things you <em> aren’t.</em>” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha bristled at that, tension flooding her body once more. “Are you punishing me for earlier? I shouldn’t have said—“</p><p> </p><p>But Steve ignored her, making a show of tallying each point on his fingers as he walked. “So far, you’re not always a lady, you’re not all that kind— except maybe when it suits you, you might be a little dishonest, and now you’re <em> not </em> a hunter. Am I missing anything?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha flushed, anger gnawing at her insides. She fell just behind him as they walked, in an effort to keep her responses hidden. She knew he was trying to provoke her, but she wouldn’t let him. Not this time. “Stop—”</p><p> </p><p>“My list of things you are is much longer. See, I believe you <em> are </em> cheap, false, vain…”</p><p> </p><p>“Enough—“</p><p> </p><p>But Steve spoke over top of her, continuing on with his rant as he marched deeper into the woods.“I’m merely doing what you’ve asked me to do, my lady. I’m trying to make out your character but, the more I talk to you, the more I think you’re like your father— a twisted, hateful distortion of a person who lives only for herself.”</p><p> </p><p>That stung. She didn’t want to admit it, but it hurt. Natasha froze, her eyes sliding shut as she struggled to tamp down her feelings. But she couldn’t stop the swirl of emotion that gripped her. He was right about her. After everything she’d done, she could barely count herself as a person… Suddenly, her helmet felt suffocating and she tore it from her head and dropped it to the ground. Steve didn’t notice she had stopped and Natasha took a moment to turn her face to the sky. The air was frigid, the sky a washed out, sad blue. In the distance birds circled overhead, scavenging. Natasha exhaled and watched her breath rise like tendrils until it disappeared. With every passing year, it became a little easier to suppress what she felt whenever she had these little flare ups of emotion. She sighed, welcoming the familiar numbness into her heart. Pushing her thoughts aside,  Natasha returned her gaze to the earth, focusing on Steve’s retreating back. </p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” she said softly. This was the first time she had used his name since she picked him out of the mud, she realized. It was enough to break him from his anger and he stopped and faced her, his expression flinty. Natasha didn’t know what her expression must look like— she felt calm, sufficiently sedated, but Steve looked like he regretted his words when he saw her face. </p><p> </p><p>He faltered, his lips pursed as he turned away. “Why are you here?” he said softly. “I don’t want maybes, or stories. I just want the truth. Give me that and I’ll leave you be.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha paused, her gaze falling to her feet. She’d have to be careful of what she told him. He’d never leave her alone if he didn’t believe her next words. Natasha exhaled slowly, controlling her response. She knew she was a little fragile still, but felt she could push and answer him. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m afraid,” she said. That was close to the truth, and it killed her to admit it. Everything she did was to try and regain some semblance of control, to put aside her uncertainty. But at the end of the day, she was shaken, unsettled. If she failed this mission, it would prove she was weak, that she was a mistake. If she failed, then her life meant nothing, all the blood on her hands meant nothing. She flicked her gaze to him, studying his furrowed brow, the tenseness in his expression. This was far too close to her heart for comfort, so she added in a lie. “I’m going to marry a stranger. Do you know what that feels like?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve was silent, his eyes falling to the ground at his feet. It made her feel good to shame him like this. But her carefully constructed dam holding in her heart threatened to burst and she couldn’t make herself stop.</p><p> </p><p>“Those warriors are right, I’m no more important than a broodmare. I don’t get a choice in any of this.” Steve stood in silence, his head bowed a little as he let her words wash over him. Her heart hurt at that admission, but she drew a little breath and continued. “And the man I’m meant to marry? I’ve never even seen his face. He’s probably with my father right now discussing how much property and silver my virginity is worth. So forgive me if I’m cheap, if I’m false, or a distorted shade of a human being— because, you’re right. I’m not human, I’m property.”</p><p> </p><p>She meant for that to be Natasha's remark, but it felt too personal, too close to her own reality. Admitting it aloud, even if it was for her alias, opened an old wound within her that she thought she had suppressed. Natasha shut herself off from the hurt that leaked out of her and studied him instead. Steve was quiet, his expression deeply troubled. There was a pause before he spoke.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve…” he frowned and ran a hand over his face tiredly. He seemed upset with himself, exhausted. “This war, all this bloodshed… Sometimes I forget how I’m supposed to act.” He sighed, his expression tense as he looked at her. “It’d be easier if I could play a part, be someone better, but I can’t seem to do that with you.” He was on edge, frustrated and Natasha blinked, unsure of how to read him. “I’m not a sociable person,” he admitted. “I’m not… good. But I know that’s no excuse for acting cruelly towards you. So… I’m sorry, Natasha.”</p><p> </p><p>He’d gotten the truth from her, which was surely his aim in provoking her, but she didn’t expect a genuine apology. She’d never had anyone say anything like that to her before. “It’s alright,” she said, growing uncomfortable with that notion, “I wasn’t any kinder to you.” She sighed, aiming to repair the rift she created. “I’m not your better, I’m not anything, really.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not true.” Steve frowned when she met his eyes and he quickly looked away. “You’d have to be brave to marry a stranger for peace.” </p><p> </p><p>He meant it as a kindness, but her heart sank. It shouldn’t bother her; it meant that he bought the lies she was selling, but she was still raw and unsteady, her heart still vulnerable. She needed time to properly suppress this. There was no room for guilt on this mission. Steve sighed and gathered himself, his expression troubled, but he quickly put on a smile for her before he spoke again. </p><p> </p><p>“Storm Bringer… He’d never harm you. I know he wouldn’t. And I… I know he respects you. You aren’t just a bargaining piece to him.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha perked up a little. “He talks of me?” Steve withered a little under her scrutiny. He nodded. “You and he are close, then?”</p><p> </p><p>His expression was flinty and he shifted uncomfortably.“I— yes.”  Something told her he didn’t like to talk of Storm Bringer and she added that to her profile of him. </p><p> </p><p>She made herself laugh and Steve gave her a pained smile. “I know this is just a political marriage, but it’s a comfort to know my future husband is kind.” Kindness could be exploited, especially if Storm Bringer was open to her charms as Steve implied. </p><p> </p><p>Steve smiled weakly, falling into uncomfortable silence and Natasha nearly smiled. He wasn’t lying when he admitted he wasn’t sociable. Steve cleared his throat and met her gaze. “Thanks for your honesty… Enjoy your hunt. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.” Without another word, he turned to leave, heading back the way he came.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps she already had. Steve was giving up information she might actually be able to use. He was close to Storm Bringer, and seemed not to respect his lord as blindly as his comrades did. Natasha pursed her lips, calculating her next steps. As Steve disappeared into the woods, Natasha stooped and picked up her helmet, putting it back on. This time she ran to catch up to him, falling into step by his side. Steve seemed surprised she followed and she met his puzzled gaze. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re right,” she said and he immediately frowned like he couldn’t believe his ears. “I don’t know how to hunt. Which is why I’m afraid you’ll have to escort me.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha leaned in, “Well, you’ve ruined my chances of joining anyone else <em> and </em> you nearly left me alone in the woods to hunt on my own with no clue on how to do that, nor any notion of how to get back.” Steve grimaced as each word struck him. “So, you will take me to repay me for your intolerable cruelty.”</p><p> </p><p>His lips were pursed as he studied her, but she was determined. He sighed, clearly exasperated. “You’re a troublesome woman.” </p><p> </p><p>“Then I’m in good company, because you’re a troublesome man. And feel free to add that to your list. Natasha, Strucker’s daughter: troublesome.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve actually smiled at that. His face seemed so different when he smiled. His eyes were kind. Natasha averted her gaze and watched the woods behind him instead. Becoming a little more serious, Steve looked around them, scanning the surrounding woods carefully. Natasha was keen to see him in action. What sort of man was he? Smart, angry, sure. But what other skills did he possess?  </p><p> </p><p>“Well, if you’re going to be a hunter, you should know that there usually isn’t much chatter,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Her eyes narrowed. “Did you just tell me to be quiet?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve ignored her, a faint smile on his lips as he moved through the thick tangle of trees to the right of them. They walked in silence for a while, his attention acutely focused, before he crouched, checking for depressions in the soft earth. His fingers trailed along the earth and he looked up with a frown. Natasha watched him carefully. He had tracking skills, it seemed. It didn’t take Steve long to pick up a trail sign and he moved, following the tracks deeper into the woods. Natasha followed behind, noting how quietly he moved, how precise he was. He hadn’t told her what his job was earlier, but she imagined he’d make a good scout. He was agile, careful in his movements and it didn’t hurt that he was short in stature, either. There weren’t often brutish scouts. </p><p> </p><p>“This is a game trail,” Steve said, gesturing to the natural path cut into the earth by the feet of many animals. “Deer, I’d say. Too small to be elk.” </p><p> </p><p>He stood and studied the surrounding trees. “Those are antler marks scraped into the bark there,” he said. “And these tracks are pretty recent. But it looks like they’ve moved on.” He pointed to the overlapping tracks pressed into the mud. The footprints told of a scramble of movement etched into the earth. “Something spooked them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wolves?” Natasha said quietly. </p><p> </p><p>“No, I don’t see any signs. Ah—” he spotted a boot track in the melting snow. “Hunters.”</p><p> </p><p>He followed the hunter’s tracks until he stopped with a frown. “They got something,” he said, indicating to the bright red trail speckling the yellowed grass. </p><p> </p><p>“They felled it?” Natasha asked softly. </p><p> </p><p>“No…” Steve followed the tracks. “But it’s wounded.” </p><p> </p><p>He continued on in silence, Natasha watching his back as he picked up the trail again. While Steve worked, Natasha was formulating. It was late afternoon now and she had nearly lost a whole day out here. Steve was a promising lead, but he was cagey and clearly standoffish and reluctant to talk about Storm Bringer. More than anything, she needed him to trust her, but she was running out of time for this hunt.  Already, the light was beginning to fade as they made their way further into the woods. Spring was coming, but the lingering signs of winter meant daylight was still short and she didn’t want to be gone from the village at night. She might be missed then, especially if Storm Bringer were to call on her to sup with him. They followed the tracks until Steve stopped at another trail mark and Natasha nearly ran into him. A wide stream cut through the woods and the tracks suddenly split. The human tracks kept going along the snowy bank of the stream and the deer prints stopped. </p><p> </p><p>“They lost the trail,” Steve observed, scanning the tree line. “But… see there.” He pointed across the creek at the treeline to a tuft of fur snagged onto the bark of the tree. She might’ve missed it if he hadn’t pointed it out. It struck her how attentive to detail he was and she couldn’t help but imagine him as a student of the Widows. He was certainly handsome enough to be a soldier for the Red Room, and she wondered how fearsome he’d be if he was trained to be as deadly as she was. Steve glanced at her and she pushed those foolish thoughts aside. “The deer crossed, the hunters stayed on the path,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha needed more time with him. She needed to figure out how best to break him. “Let's cross, then.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve turned to appraise her.  “Are your boots waterproofed?” </p><p> </p><p>She cursed herself for not being better prepared, but she was using stolen equipment and had to make do. “No.”</p><p> </p><p>He marched back, taking her arm and tugging her along with him. “Then we’ll turn back. You can’t go on with wet feet. You’d risk losing them to the cold.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha could think of a variety of ways to make him let go, but she couldn’t very well do them to Storm Bringer’s personal friend. Instead, she grabbed his wrist, turning on her best look of disappointment. “No, please. I want to see this through, Steve. I don’t want to turn back now.” She wasn’t sure when her next opportunity to question him would be, especially since he only ever seemed to appear when it was most inconvenient for her. </p><p> </p><p>Steve let her go. “Does this really mean that much to you?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha nodded and Steve sighed, turning to stare across the stream with a frown. He appeared deep in thought and Natasha was about to speak when he suddenly turned back to her. Her palms prickled in nervous anticipation. She didn’t like the look in his eye as he smirked at her. “How much do you weigh?”</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve sized her up. “About as much as a sheep?”</p><p> </p><p>She opened her mouth to respond when Steve suddenly knelt, scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder. Natasha yelped and scrambled, her hands clutching at his waist to hold onto his belt cinching his armor as he trudged through the water. He was strong, his grasp like iron on her legs. He must be a labourer of some kind, but she might kill him before she ever found that out. Natasha gritted her teeth, her face flushed in furious humiliation.</p><p> </p><p>As soon as he crossed Steve set her down and Natasha stepped back and punched him in the arm. He flinched, his hand flying to the spot she tenderized, his expression a picture of betrayal. “Ow!” </p><p> </p><p>She had no words, her mind still reeling. “You— I’m not livestock!” Steve froze for a moment, rubbing his arm, before he smiled. </p><p> </p><p>“I thought you didn’t want to turn back,” he said lightly. He knew exactly what he was doing, and Natasha seethed and punched him again, and he laughed this time. The sound of it surprised her. It was genuine, bright and warm, and she studied the way his eyes creased, his cheeks dimpled as he laughed. A pang of something unfamiliar shot through her and she invited the numbness back into her to suppress it. </p><p> </p><p>“Just! Let’s finish this hunt.” It was like he enjoyed making her react and it was infuriating that he knew how to do it. She wished she could just interrogate him, torture him and get her information that way. </p><p> </p><p>“As my lady commands,” he said.   </p><p> </p><p>Steve picked up the trail again, following the animal into the woods. Natasha noticed a wobble in the tracks; the blood trail grew in size. It was fresh. It wasn’t long before they tracked the wounded animal into the thicket. Steve froze when they stumbled on it and Natasha saw over his shoulder what he looked at. The deer lay on its side, its dark eye roaming fearfully as it panted, breaths rising like ghosts from its nostrils. An arrow pierced its side, the wound surrounding the shaft gaping and raw. Natasha knew blood was likely filling its chest cavity, slowly suffocating the creature from the inside out. It likely had made its injury worse after trying to run from the hunters, but it could be hours before it finally died. The deer struggled weakly as the two of them approached, its head rising, legs kicking to try and stand before it collapsed, its breathing labored and gurgling. </p><p> </p><p>Steve sighed, his expression tense. He opened his jacketed armor and drew his blade. It was a sharp knife, and Natasha eyed it warily. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to watch,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha almost scoffed at the notion, but she turned her back to him, watching from over her shoulder instead. Steve’s face was incredibly kind, incredibly soft as he slowly reached out and stroked the deer’s neck, murmuring soft words to it. It struggled weakly, its legs kicking in a feeble attempt to flee, but its fate had been sealed the moment the hunter’s arrow pierced its side. He brushed its fur as it trembled until it calmed a little, its dark eye searching, its chest rising and falling rapidly as it slowly drowned in its own blood. </p><p> </p><p>He was merciful to end it, but Natasha was struck how gentle he was with the creature. He didn’t have to try and soothe it before giving it a swift death. It was revealing in a way she didn’t like. It meant he had a kind heart, beneath all that rage. Steve slowly slid his hand beneath the deer’s jaw and tilted its head back. He was swift about it, adept with his blade as he slit the creature’s throat deeply. It struggled and Steve held its head, keeping it still as much as possible as it quickly bled out. When it was still, he sagged, kneeling by the creature in silence. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha turned back around to face him, pretending as though she hadn’t seen him do it, but he hardly noticed. She frowned when she noticed a slight tremor in his hands as he stared down at his bloodied knife and fingers. It was as if he couldn’t speak for a moment. </p><p> </p><p>“Steve?” </p><p> </p><p>There was an unmistakable shake in his breath and Steve glanced up at her, his expression flinty. He looked exhausted, angry, and pained in a way she couldn’t describe. Natasha hadn’t expected him to turn his anger on her like this, and her lips parted in surprise. </p><p> </p><p>“Your father,” he said, his voice tense, “is he planning something against Storm Bringer?” </p><p> </p><p>A thrill of dread shot through her as Steve pinned her with his stare. His jaw was clenched painfully tight, his eyes full of that righteous anger, that fire that she was coming to hate. Perhaps this was his true purpose in agreeing to take her on this expedition. They were alone, he had made himself friendly and affable and now she was cornered— or at least she appeared to be. But he surely wouldn’t hurt her. Not when she was to marry his lord. So she forced herself to relax and fed him lies. </p><p> </p><p>“No,” she said, “he would never.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve snorted at that. He was incredulous, his tone accusatory. “Why? Because he’s a good man?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha shook her head emphatically. “No— by no means. I know what my father is. But he fears Storm Bringer. Why do you think he’s working so hard to please him? He fears his wrath more than anything.” That was partly the truth, and could easily be verified by Strucker’s actions this past week. </p><p> </p><p>Steve’s expression was clouded, his brow furrowed as he considered her words. His grip tightened on the blade before he seemed to remember that he was holding it and he wiped it on the grass and returned it to its sheath beneath his armor. He met her gaze again, his fists clenched tightly, still stained with blood as he knelt by the fallen deer. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you lying to me?” he said softly. </p><p> </p><p>A direct approach seemed like an odd tactic, especially since he held no incentive for her to answer truthfully. He wouldn’t torture her, or intimidate her, and yet he asked anyway. Quickly searching her surroundings, Natasha saw that they were still alone out here. She chanced it and removed her helmet, kneeling to be at eye level with him when she met his steady gaze. </p><p> </p><p>“No,” she said. Steve looked like he didn’t trust her and she leaned in closer. “I swear it.” He studied her carefully and Natasha tilted her head. She had to get him off her trail so she leveraged his weakness. “Why else would he have offered me as his first line of defence?” She put on a rueful smile and Steve’s expression softened. “I marry his enemy and if all goes well, then we have peace. If things go wrong, then I am the first casualty. Either way, he will get what he wants from the deal— to save his own skin.” </p><p>Steve appeared thoughtful at that and Natasha closely studied his response. She needed him to trust her and he seemed to be starting to. She stood and offered her hand and he frowned before glancing up at her. She smiled back at him and he took her hand and she helped him up. </p><p>“And what do you want, Natasha?” </p><p> </p><p>He was close now, his hand still in hers as he levelled his piercing gaze on her. Her attention briefly dropped to his hand holding hers and she studied the pattern of blood staining his skin. He seemed to ask her what her role in all this was. Natasha worked to control her responses, if he was trying to read her pulse, he wouldn’t find anything amiss. </p><p> </p><p>“I only want what’s best,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Steve searched her for a moment before he let go of her hand. It seemed as though he wanted to say more, ask her more, but he remained silent. He was still guarded around her— but Natasha could work on that. If he was sent here to watch her, interrogate her, then she had to make sure he found nothing amiss. She had won the trust of harder marks than him. But the strange thing about him was how uncertain and troubled he looked and Natasha frowned. Did he regret his work? Was he reluctant to be a spy? Every time she talked with him, she was left with more questions than answers, and that had to change. She didn’t like being on an uneven playing field. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha stooped and picked up her helmet again. The sky was growing dark and by her estimate, they would arrive back in the village before total darkness if they left now. Placing her helmet back on her head, Natasha readjusted the chain mail curtain to hide her face. “What should we do with the deer?” she asked. </p><p> </p><p>Steve looked at it like he hated to see it go to waste, but he shook his head. “I can’t carry it,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>“Nor I,” </p><p> </p><p>In the distance, Natasha could hear some of the hunting party shouting and calling out. If they were worth their salt, they’d be able to track it here as she and Steve had. Someone would find it, she supposed. She turned to face Steve and found him watching the distant tree line with a frown. An idea formed in her mind as she watched him and she reached out and tugged his sleeve. He turned on her, his blue eyes questioning. </p><p> </p><p>“Those hunters will come for their kill,” she said, “they wouldn’t leave their prize here and return with nothing to boast about.” Steve nodded, his gaze falling to the forest floor and Natasha leaned in to try and get him to look at her again. Something was deeply troubling him and she intended to find out what it was. “Take me back to the village,” she said. He still seemed hesitant, like he didn’t know what to think of her so she pulled at his sleeve a little more insistently.  “Come on.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve finally looked at her and gave her a broken smile. “As you command, my lady.” </p><p> </p><p>She shoved him and his smile widened a little. It was a comfort to see it and Natasha quickly brushed off that notion. This was an act— they were both pretenders, players in this dangerous game. But she wasn’t about to lose. She would rise above her failings as she always did. More than anything, Steve was irritating, a frustrating mystery that she meant to unravel. She walked back the way they came and Steve fell into step at her side once more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oho! I like this chapter, it's the start of the fun and games section (I'm trying to follow a specific beats structure for this story), so I'm excited to get into thaaat. </p><p>Next update will probably be shorter. I say that, but it might be longer by the time I actually finish writing it lol. I'm aiming for an update on Wednesday next week, but I'll see how that goes. </p><p>Follow me on twitter(@YeetaNo) for updates and artwork!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Interrogation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They made it back in time to find Strucker’s longhouse in disarray as hunters came back with their kills.  It was larger than the mead hall that Storm Bringer had claimed and it looked as though preparations were being made for a feast. Darkness was quickly falling and torches were being lit as people prepared for revelry. It would take a long time to prepare and process the kills before cooking them and Natasha suspected the feast would begin late and carry on until first light. Her presence would be expected for at least some of that time. But she had time, and she still had questions for Steve, who hadn’t been all that chatty on their trek back to the village. The whole time she had been calculating how to break him. She couldn’t interrogate him with her usual methods, so she would have to be creative. Her wedding date had yet to be set, but she began to feel the time constraint weighing on her. She refused to find out on her wedding night whether or not Storm Bringer could be killed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they entered the village, Natasha spotted a group of hunters enter the mead hall. The sounds of revelry and laughter spilled out when they opened the door, and she suddenly had an idea. Steve turned to her, obviously about to take his leave, when Natasha grabbed him and hooked her arm in his. He flinched, clearly not expecting this level of familiarity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where do you think you’re going?” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve looked surprised and flustered to come up with an answer. “I don’t like crowds,” he said. “And shouldn’t you go attend the feast? I thought they’d be expecting Strucker’s daughter to be there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you my keeper now?” she said with a smile. Steve frowned and she tugged him along. “The feast won’t be for a while yet, and I’m not finished with my adventure.” Steve narrowed his eyes. He looked like he might say something in response, but Natasha knew better than to argue with such a stubborn man. She caught him off guard instead. “So, have a drink with me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve faltered. “What?” he asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taking advantage of his hesitancy, Natasha dragged him toward the mead hall, ignoring his rigid body language, his bewildered expression.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Drink with me,” she repeated, turning to give him a dazzling smile. Initially, she feared her charms didn’t work on him, but she could see colour creep into his cheeks. She turned on her best laugh at his flustered expression. “Oh, come on. I want to thank you for escorting me, as meddlesome and terrible as you were.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t say anything in response as she guided him into the mead hall. The room was alive with festivity. Men and women drank and ate, they talked and laughed, some sang and boasted of the hunt, while others listened on. It was nearly deafening in the room as she took Steve over to an unoccupied corner, as far away from the other tables as she could manage. She didn’t like crowds much either— there was too much unpredictability, but they were a good place to disappear. Steve sat and she leaned in close to speak over the crowd. “Wait here,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha then elbowed and wove her way through the crowd. She knew where the good liquor was kept and made her way to the backroom stores. It was quiet and dark in the musty room, the air heavy with moisture and the yeasty smell of ale. In the light of the open doorway, Natasha let her eyes adjust to the gloom and set to work. She opted for mead— a more potent alcohol than ale— and found two tankards to drink from. She filled the vessels to the brim from the large cask kept in storage. She then scrounged three waterskins and filled those full as well. This was a gamble, but it was worth a shot. It was a simple tactic, but one she had often used before in intelligence-gathering operations. Drunk men had loose tongues, and she was willing to bet Steve would sing like a bird if she got him drunk enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she returned, Steve looked uncomfortable. He sat hunched over the table, braced on his elbows as his leg bounced nervously. When he spotted her coming with large tankards in hand, he appeared relieved. Natasha smiled. His relief would be short-lived when she drank him under the table. Gently, she set the tankards down, sat across from him, and undid the clasp of her chain mail veil to reveal the bottom half of her face. Steve took the tankard with a tiny frown, perhaps taken aback by how full it was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cheers,” she said, holding her tankard up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve raised his mug to hers and Natasha raised her tankard to her lips with a coy smile and downed the mead in one long swig, before pointedly wiping her mouth and setting the mug down. Steve stared at her, perhaps knowing that he was in trouble now, and followed suit. He wasn’t nearly as graceful as he emptied his mug and Natasha laughed. Steve coughed and set his mug down and as soon as he did, she was filling it full again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh… I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Would you relax?” she said, studying his expression. “We’re just having a few drinks.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve watched her fill his tankard to the brim with an uneasy look. “Right,” he said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She filled her own mug and raised it to her lips again. He seemed a little more at ease as he watched her drink it down like it was nothing. Perhaps he was assured that she was smaller than him and if she could handle it, then so could he. But that would be his undoing here. The Red Room had trained her body to build up a resistance to poisons and her tolerance for alcohol was a precise skill set that she had honed for years. She knew exactly how much it would take to get her drunk and after the first three full tankards, she started to pull back, giving herself less generous pours and making sure Steve’s tankard was never empty. She kept him distracted with small-talk about their adventure, testing how loose-lipped he was becoming with her questions. As she poured and talked, his posture was beginning to relax. Tension slipped from his shoulders, his body language became open, receptive, and Natasha smiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were a skillful hunter,” she mused, nursing her fourth tankard of mead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve laughed at that and she drank her mead down, gesturing for him to follow suit. He drank deeply and set his mug down, and Natasha filled it up again. “Aye… I used to go with my lord’s son. He was a good shot. I used to track for him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was pliable, much less reserved than he had been before, and a thrill raced through Natasha. She loved this part of the game. “Your lord… as in Storm Bringer?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve shook his head and, unprompted, raised his tankard to his lips. “No, my lord before him.” He nodded at her, eyeing her full tankard and watched as she drank. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She pretended that she felt the effects of the mead, making a show of missing her lips and giggling. Steve smiled in response. Natasha decided on an easy question, one that would test his willingness to be honest and open with her. “And you’re… who? Steve, son of…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sarah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But your father—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His expression hardened, his tone clipped. “I have none.” It wasn’t often that Northmen claimed no last name. It suggested he was a child out of wedlock, unclaimed by his father and set to inherit nothing. This response was exactly what she wanted— it demonstrated he was becoming far less careful and secretive. “And you’re Natasha,” Steve continued, “Strucker's daughter: troublesome and…” She poured them both another round as he spoke. He frowned. “How many drinks are we going to have?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well. I’ve had six now and I believe you’ve only had four.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He squinted, clearly not believing her. “That’s not—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In fact,” Natasha drank her mead down in one long pull before setting it down with a satisfied sigh. “That’s seven for me and </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> are a lightweight. I’ll add that to </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> list. Steve: Sarah’s son, tracker, can’t hold his liquor for </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve hastily took his tankard and drank his mead then, rising to her bait. He had had more than four drinks, but his memory seemed muddled. Natasha smirked as she observed the deepening colour in his cheeks and lips, the way his movements became clumsy, languorous. He was almost where she wanted him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think ladies said words like shit,” he said, grabbing the waterskin from the table to fill his mug again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can report that back to Storm Bringer,” she said as he drank another round. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aye, I just might,” he said as he poured himself another round to catch up. He drank that down too and poured them both mead this time. She smiled, pleased that she had read him correctly. He was a loose-tongued drunk. He leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers as he set his tankard down with a decisive flourish.She poured him another round and lifted her mug. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cheers,” she said again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To you finally catching up with me.” She clanked their tankards together and they drank. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon they were about an hour into challenge drinking, and it was becoming clear Steve didn’t drink like this very often. When Natasha finished her mead and poured another mug for Steve, he didn’t even notice that she didn’t fill her tankard again. His face was flushed a deep red, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he struggled to down another tankard. As he drank, the mead spilled and ran down his chin and dripped onto the table. Steve clumsily wiped his face with his sleeve with a little laugh. Natasha smiled into her empty mug—he was ready. She didn’t want him so drunk he passed out, just enough to completely let his guard down. Now she needed to move them to a more private setting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think you’ve had enough,” she mused as she appeared to finish off her drink.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Steve glared at her, his lips almost pulled into a pout. He looked like he’d argue with her, but instead he raised his mug and finished it off as if to prove a point. Natasha rolled her eyes at that. She stood and went over to him. “Come on, you stubborn fool,” she said. “You’re done.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve stumbled to stand, and lost his balance. He nearly fell over and steadied himself by gripping the table for balance. Natasha gripped his arm to support him as he fumbled and grabbed the remaining waterskin before he turned to follow her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lead on,” he said as he clumsily untangled himself from the bench he sat on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha smirked as they left, heading out of the stuffy mead hall and into the frosty night air of the courtyard. Steve frowned deeply as he fell into step at her side. “Are you even…” he looked at the waterskin as if he had forgotten he had it. “Drunk?” he asked. “You’re so… graceful.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was awfully perceptive, even in this state, and she made a note to be careful of what she said to him. “I can hold my liquor,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He snorted and took another swig of mead from the waterskin. “Cheers to that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She quickly surveyed the village and spotted a quiet place away from crowds just behind the bathhouses. It wasn’t well-lit and would keep them hidden from prying eyes. She walked Steve in that direction and began her interrogation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Steve, thank you,” she said. “I needed this.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He eyed her for a moment, his cheeks and lips flushed a drunken shade of red. “Me too,” he said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… It’s been hard here on my own. My father is preoccupied and my future husband, well… he’s not exactly what I’d expected.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve nodded thoughtfully, his eyes rheumy and narrowed against the cold. “He’s too tall.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was the risk she ran with a drunken interrogation. Natasha gritted her teeth. “Among other things.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve drew a deep breath in and sighed, watching his breath rise into the night air. They had stopped at her desired location, just out of the way of the village. “Have you ever felt like you didn’t matter? Like you're… invisible.” Steve clutched the waterskin, turning his attention to the liquid at the bottom in contemplation. “Never mind. Never mind. You’re a… a…” he gestured vaguely, “You matter a lot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha was silent, surprised once again by his bluntness. It was the truth. She was expendable, her life was an effort to prove she wasn’t worthless… But she wasn’t about to reveal that.  “I’m ignored more often than not. Even by the man I’m meant to marry.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He seemed far less willing to pry into her motivations now, and she wasn’t sure if that was because he was starting to trust her a little more, or because he was drunk. Steve uncapped the waterskin and drank before pausing again. “You’re gettin’ married. Do you even want to?” He finally asked her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What a loaded question. But Natasha could play this off easily. She made herself look nervous, “What sort of man is he?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Storm Bringer?” Steve’s gaze fell to the ground ahead of him.  “He’s… good, I guess.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You guess? Are you and he not on good terms?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes what we want doesn’t… agree.” He was silent for a moment, his expression troubled. Natasha waited for him to continue but he just shook his head and took another swig of mead. “But he is far stronger than I could ever be.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha frowned. It sounded as though his lord had asked something of him that troubled him deeply. This would be something she could explore later. For now, she needed to see if he knew anything about his lord’s mortality. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is he… a man, human, in some way?” Could he be killed by a blade, is what she really wanted to know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughed at some unspoken joke and took another drink of mead. “I suppose he’s just a man at the end of the day.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That piqued Natasha’s interest. “How so?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Steve was lost in thought. “Sometimes I wish we didn’t need him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She frowned and focused on the ground at her feet as Steve made his way past the bathhouse. She cocked her head and let him lead as he staggered to the bluff overlooking the ocean. Maybe he was looking for a way back down to the beaches. She sighed and took his arm, directing him to walk with her as she led him down to the water.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What a strange thing to say,” she mused. “He’s a god— I know you don’t think he is, but he’s blazed this path for all of you. None of us would be here if it weren’t for him. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She expected him to argue, or have a snarky remark, but Steve was silent and Natasha turned, only to notice he was no longer by her side. She whirled around to find that he had stopped, his expression glazed and full of mourning. He seemed to be trying to gather himself and when he saw she watched him, he sniffed and took another swig from the waterskin. Natasha’s brow furrowed in confusion. Clearly this was something of a sore spot for him and reluctantly, she went back for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Steve?” she said softly. But his jaw was clenched tightly, his eyes swimming with bitter tears. He scoffed and swiped them away with the heel of his hand as he lifted the waterskin for another drink, but it was empty. Slowly, Natasha reached out and took it from him, her hands grazing his. He was cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Most of us used to be farmers, you know,” Steve said. “An army of— of farmers, and tradesmen and whoever else.” He laughed, a quiet, broken laugh, before falling into sullen silence. Natasha was at a loss for what to do. She had never had to offer comfort to anyone like this before and she only stared at him. She wasn’t sure he’d continue, but she stayed silent, giving him the chance to speak if he wanted it. Steve drew a shaky breath, his expression darkening. “The old warlords— they took </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”  He clenched his fists, his knuckles white. That same fire, that rage was in his eyes, and it suddenly made sense to her now. He had nothing left.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When they came to my village… Strucker’s men. Your father’s men… It wasn’t even about what we had.” His words were an accusation, a furious testimony. “Me an’—” he paused, assessing her as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to trust her with his next words. “I was born a thrall.” He seemed almost ashamed to admit it. In the distant, dim flicker of torch light, his eyes were flinty, his chin jutted out as if he expected her to taunt him, to think less of him. But Natasha was silent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, she saw him in a different light. Everything she knew about him shifted with that admission. He was strong and skilled not because he chose to be, but because he was required to be that way. His lord needed a labourer, so he laboured. His lord’s son needed a tracker, so that’s what he was. He was fatherless, unclaimed, and born into servitude; a bastard son to a slave mother. It made her heart sink to realize she had called him lesser. No wonder he didn’t seem to like her all that much and had certain expectations about her. She sank further to remember his face when she deemed herself property. His expression then, his sympathy, came from a place of understanding, not pity. Natasha drew a breath, savouring the sharp chill of the air as it sank into her lungs. This wasn’t what she wanted to know about him and she knew better than to feel sorry for her enemy. Steve’s expression told her he didn’t want her pity, either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And now?” she asked quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve lost some of his sharpness, his shoulders slumping a little. He seemed to want to be angry with her, to pick a fight, but found no cause to. “I was freed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wanted to steer this conversation back on course. “By… Storm—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“By my mother.” His eyes were still fierce, still piercing, even when he was blind drunk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha faltered and had no response for that. She understood that Northmen allowed thralls to buy their freedom, but she couldn’t fathom a mother who would do that for her child. Not when she was sold like she meant nothing. She fell into solemn silence, her heart heavy in her chest. When Steve saw that she waited for him to speak, he continued, his gaze faltering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me an’... the village I lived in, most of us were freed slaves, we barely had anything worth taking.” He exhaled shakily, his breath ghostly. He shook his head, his gaze fixed on the ground. “They— your father’s men, could’ve taken us as chattel, made us thralls again… But I think they were just in the mood for bloodshed.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled humourlessly, and Natasha swallowed. She knew the gist of what Strucker and the warlords like him did. But it wasn’t her place to pass judgement on men like them, she just took their money and did what they asked of her. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, his smile dying on his face as he continued. “It was slaughter. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>butchered</span>
  </em>
  <span> us.” Natasha’s gaze fell to the ground, shame pulling at her heart. She was the cause of misery like this. She ensured men like Strucker would continue their bloody domination. Steve and people like him never stood a chance. “And they laughed. They murdered everyone and they laughed…” he let out a shaky breath, “and I couldn’t stop them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She imagined he had tried. She could picture him throwing himself into the fray just as he had when he defended that woman. It was surprising that he was alive. Strucker’s men had a reputation for brutality. She knew what the old warlords were, what they did to the people they conquered, but rarely did she have to witness the aftermath of the conflict she caused. The look on Steve’s face broke her heart a little. She knew what it was like to have nothing left. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha was at a loss for how to convey sympathy. She reached out and squeezed his arm and Steve swayed dangerously. He took a stumbling step forward and leaned heavily against her, burrowing his forehead drunkenly against her shoulder, his hands hanging by his sides. “I wasn’t strong enough to stop them,” he said. “I couldn't save anyone. Not one person.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She frowned, her hands frozen, unsure of where to touch him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> to touch him. She was only ever prepared for murder, trained for seduction. She didn’t know how to offer comfort, neither with words nor touch. Eventually she circled her arms around him, her hand awkwardly settling on his back in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” she said finally. Steve didn’t say anything, and they just stood there in an awkward embrace. Natasha swallowed, remembering her purpose. “Is… that why you joined him?” she said softly, “Storm Bringer, I mean?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know what he is… what he can do. We all do. I just,” he sighed, his hands gripping her waist. He sounded desperately angry. “I wish I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. But that’s… it’s selfish of me. I heard the call,” he mumbled. “He gave me a chance to do something.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that what he promised you?” she asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve nodded against her shoulder. “Yes,” he said. “This whole thing, all of this, it’s to stop the old warlords. But… I’m tired of all of this bloodshed and misery. I’m tired of burying my friends. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Natasha.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha bowed her head a little, her forehead nearly resting on his shoulder. For a moment, she thought she understood that. Sometimes she was tired, too. Violence was a cycle that seemed impossible to break and she wondered how many years of suffering he had seen. If she believed what Strucker told her, Storm Bringer appeared around seven months ago, but he might’ve been active for longer than that, freeing villages from tyrannical control and amassing his forces. Steve would’ve been at war for a year or so if he joined around then. But he had likely lived under the brutal control of the old warlords before that, and his master before that. She was surprised he wasn’t broken. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She estimated Steve was somewhere in his late twenties, a few years older than her. He should know by now that the violence never stopped. That he wasn’t really free. Nobody was. He would slip from one master to the next until he met his end. It made her hollow to think she would be the one to finally deliver him to ruin, to destroy every hope he had of changing his fate. It might be a mercy if he died in battle rather than being captured as a slave again. That was the only kindness she could wish for him. She would be long gone. When Natasha realized how tightly she gripped him, she faltered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve had been silent for a while, frozen in her arms before he drew a sudden, sharp breath and lifted his head from her shoulder. He swayed, unsteady with the sudden movement, and tightened his grasp on her waist for support. He narrowed his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't know about you,” he said. “Sometimes I think…” he trailed off as if he lost his train of thought before he met her eyes again. “Do you even know who you are? You’re a mystery.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha knew she shouldn’t rise to his bait, but she couldn’t resist, she had to know what was making her so easy to see through. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean… Are you even happy?” he said. “Does any of this make you happy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She froze, her brow furrowed in confusion. Happiness? Her life didn’t have room for such things. Natasha didn’t know how to answer him. Steve swayed as he watched her, his expression crumpling a little as he studied her. She knew then that she had blundered. He had seen something on her face that made him sad for her, and she hated this feeling. Natasha wanted to be angry, she wanted to make him pay, to regain control, but she was frozen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he leaned in unsteadily, he looked pained, like his heart was breaking for her. It pulled at something deep within her that she hadn’t felt in a long time. His next question was soft, uncertain. “When you smile, it doesn’t reach your eyes. When you laugh, there’s no joy behind it…” She frowned. How could he see that? Worse still, why was he looking for it? “Have you ever been happy, Natasha?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a dangerous question to consider because it meant she had to confront the truth about herself— she had never known happiness. Her childhood was stolen from her, her chance at a normal life along with it. She was on her way now to becoming untouchable, stronger and above feeling pain, sadness, guilt… Happiness  wasn’t ever meant to be part of that equation. She wasn’t really sure what it was meant to feel like anymore; she had the sense that he pitied her. It was nearly laughable after what he had just told her about himself, but it seemed to imply that despite the hard life he must’ve lived, he had at least known happiness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve grazed her hand, and she nearly jumped at the contact. Warmth crept into her cheeks and she studied him intently, unsure of what else to do. “I’m gonna be sick,” he murmured. Natasha had enough time to register what he said and quickly turned him around before he vomited and sank to his knees. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha sighed and turned her face skyward. This was a mess. A stupid, humiliating mess. She knew that drunken interrogation was a double-edged sword and tallied up the points she had learned from this. Steve had revealed Storm Bringer’s army may not be so experienced, that he often disagreed with his lord, and that Storm Bringer ‘was just a man’. It was a start, at least. Steve retched, his hair slipping from his mussed top knot and Natasha pitied him and gently held his hair from his neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve spat and wiped his mouth and clumsily moved to stand. He was incredibly unstable and  Natasha rolled her eyes and helped him up, steadying him by throwing his arm over her shoulder and holding him by the waist. He groaned, his head lolling back. His world must be spinning terribly and she tugged him in the direction of the beaches. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If… If you ever want to drink with me again,” he said, “my answer is no.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She snorted softly in response, steadying his flagging body against her. He smiled, though he looked a bit green and ill. Natasha would remember not to give him so much next time— if there was a next time. As they made their way down to the water, they stumbled past Storm Bringer’s abode, well-lit with torches and cozy.  Steve looked up and eyed it resentfully. His whole demeanor shifted and he froze, unwilling to move another step.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” she asked. She really hoped he wasn’t about to be sick again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve turned to move, but lost his balance and slipped from her grasp instead. He hit the ground, almost dragging Natasha down with him before he lay back on the embankment. “Shit—” he grunted, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “It’s like I’m on a ship in a storm.”   </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Natasha said, reaching to pull at the collar of his armor. “Where do you sleep? I’ll take you there.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Steve shook his head, refusing to move.  “I just… Need a minute.” He folded his arms across his chest and studied the stars instead, his face still deeply flushed. In the distance there was a blast of a horn, shouts and cheers and Natasha turned to see Strucker’s longhouse up on the hill, its torches lit, crowds gathering outside. The feast was starting. Natasha pursed her lips and stole a glance back at Steve, who looked drunkenly back at her. “You should go,” he said. “You wouldn’t wanna be missed.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But—” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine, my lady.”  He looked bitter and she wondered what it might feel like to have such little significance. Would anyone miss him? Were any of his comrades looking for him? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could come, you know,” she said.  It was strange to think that this mattered to her. She should be glad he wouldn’t be there sticking his nose in her business. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He snorted, his head lolling back to stare at the sky. “No,” he said stiffly. “I can’t.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could’ve been saying that due to the state he was in— drunk to the point of becoming ill, but it felt like he was talking about something else. There was an emptiness to him, a sorrow, a regret that she couldn’t understand. She had learned too much about him as well, it seemed. Some of it might be useful in provoking him, but mostly, she felt a strange, awful fragility around him. It was worrisome that she saw herself in him, that she related to him, sympathized with him. A softness like a tender wound was forming within her and she had to protect herself before it threatened to undo her. She was becoming too personal, too familiar with a man who wasn’t her target. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <span>Natasha steeled herself, determined to destroy that tenderness. “Suit yourself,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stole a final, quick glance at him as he lay in the grass, weary and alone, before she left to get herself ready to attend the feast.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wowee I somehow got this one done too! Steve gets some backstory time in this chapter (hooray for tragic pasts :D)<br/>Do not chug mead, you'll be in for a very bad time. </p><p>I don't plan to release anything until next week sometime. Probably between Wednesday and Sunday. As always, I'll see how it goes.</p><p>Have a good rest of the week everyone!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Feast</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natasha returned to her cabin, trying to put off the growing guilt and unease she felt after her conversation with Steve. Her mind still whirled, a knot of anxiety curled in her core. What was she thinking, inviting him to the feast? She should be overjoyed to be rid of him, glad that he had finally given her a glimmer of hope that she might be able to complete her mission. She focused on that instead, turning his words over in her mind again: <em> he’s just a man </em>. It eased some of the tension she felt as Natasha picked her way through the village, passing revelers and warriors heading for Strucker’s longhouse. But Natasha peeled from the path and made her way to the turf houses nestled just behind the grand building.</p><p> </p><p>The sight of her little A-framed abode was welcoming, warm, and Natasha was relieved to finally be alone to gather her thoughts and properly repress this growing tangle of vulnerable emotion she was experiencing. But as she approached the front door, it was clear something was amiss. She narrowed her eyes as she scanned her surroundings, her hand drifting to her blade she kept at her waist. Behind her, the sounds of chatter and laughter echoed up the hill, torchlight flickered and danced, illuminating the dark hillside, and Natasha pursed her lips. When she left her house, she balanced the latch on the door in such a way that it was crooked. Nobody but her would notice that detail, and it was impossible to latch the door in the same way from the inside. The latch was out of place. Someone had been here.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha kept her hand on her blade. If someone was still in there, she could be walking into a trap. Quickly, she mentally surveyed the layout of her room. She had moved her furniture to afford fewer places to hide, directing any would-be assassins to where she wanted them to be— behind the door or balanced in the gable above. With so many people in the village, she’d need to keep this quiet.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha marched up to the door and flung it open as though she was stumbling in drunk. It hit the back wall with a solid thunk. Nobody there. The gable, then. From the beams above, a figure pounced, tackling Natasha. But she redirected her opponent’s momentum and threw them to the floor, and drew her blade as she found the door with her foot and kicked it shut. Her opponent rolled from her grasp and launched at her, trying to trap her in a leg hold. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha smiled. She recognized this hold, the graceful movements, the way her opponent remained silent, even as Natasha broke from the hold to deliver a punishing, painful blow to the woman’s solar plexus with the pommel of her blade. She heard the involuntary gush of air from her attacker’s lungs, but she didn’t cry out, she didn’t falter, she kept fighting. She blocked a jab, but was caught with a swift knee to the stomach. Natasha stumbled back, her back hitting the wall as her attacker lunged for her. Natasha darted forward, catching the woman in a tackle that sent both of them to the floor. She rolled, crouched low, ready to strike. </p><p> </p><p>Her opponent just barely got to her feet and Natasha grinned and tackled her, pinning her to the floor to press her blade to her throat. Her attacker yielded, raising her hands in surrender and Natasha sat up to straddle her. </p><p> </p><p>“Sister,” Natasha said, withdrawing her blade and returning it to its sheath. The other woman laughed in response and Natasha stood and moved to light the fire in her hearth. As the fire grew and flickered, the warm light cast a faint glow, banishing the darkness around them. Behind her, her sister sat up, bracing herself on her elbows.</p><p> </p><p>“You knew I was here,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha turned and met the familiar grey eyes of her younger sister. She was a graduate of a batch of Red Room candidates born three years after Natasha. She’d never admit it, but she was glad. Red Room candidates were separated by age group and only one candidate per year was produced. The failed candidates were merely useful tools, training exercises meant to forge the strongest. Natasha was grateful they had both lived to see adulthood. None of her other sisters retained much personality after the Red Room was done with basic training, herself included, but she liked her grey-eyed, flaxen-haired sister— she still had a sense of humour. They still weren’t much of a family; all her sisters, younger and older, were competing to become Widows. It was a natural progression, a necessary evolution, a <em> privilege </em>. They had all been selected, and proved they were worthy of living by surviving to become top of their class and claim sisterhood, but only true Widows were born to shape the future. Natasha’s sisters would kill her if it meant proving they were worthy of that title. And she would do the same to any of them, her grey-eyed sister included. </p><p> </p><p>But her grey-eyed sister seemed attached to her ever since they were small girls. Natasha knew now that it would’ve been easier to reject her, to encourage the rivalry and bitterness she grew to feel for everyone else, but she was too young to know better and the attachment only grew with time. Natasha was glad to see her now, she was <em> always </em> glad to see her, and she wondered if her sister regretted that as much as she did. </p><p> </p><p>“I planted a tell,” Natasha said. </p><p> </p><p>Her sister sat. “It was something about the door, wasn’t it?” She sucked in an irritated breath and blew the hair from her forehead. “Ah well, I knew better than to try and fool you.” She shot Natasha an appraising look, taking in her plain armour and breeches. A sly smile spread across her face as she reached out to pull Natasha’s helmet over her eyes. “Nice disguise.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha suppressed a smile and swatted her sister's hand away. “The Red Room sent you here?” </p><p> </p><p>Her sister nodded. “I was nearest to you,” she said. “They pulled me from a mission to help. It must be serious if they thought <em> you </em> needed me.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha sighed, reluctant to let her uncertainty show. Her sister shouldn’t look at her with such admiration, it was a dangerous emotion. She wished she didn’t need help at all, but her target wasn’t even human, as far as she could tell, and interrogating Steve had revealed that he had weaknesses that made him like a man, but not whether he would die like one. Her sister nudged her, drawing her from her thoughts. Natasha kept her face carefully neutral, but her sister knew something troubled her, just as Natasha knew that she was trying to cheer her up. It was the effect of their closeness with each other that Natasha didn’t entirely mind. She didn’t have to be on all the time around her grey-eyed sister. </p><p> </p><p>“What are they calling you this time?” her sister asked. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha gave her a side glance and took off her helmet, setting it by her side as she watched the fire’s reflection on the beaten metal surface. “Natasha,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Her sister chuckled softly and got up to lock the door. “I suppose you’ve had worse names,” she said as she latched the door securely. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha smirked and watched her sister check the room, inspecting the window to make sure it was latched tightly. With a sigh, Natasha began to unbuckle the clasps on her padded armor as her sister worked. Identity was a matter of circumstance that shifted with each mission. She had been many people over the years, but none of the names she used were the one she was born with. She didn’t remember what that name was anymore and when she entered the Red Room, she was stripped of all identity. All female candidates were girls, then sisters, then Widows. Natasha didn’t mind having no name of her own. The Red Room gave her direction, helped her understand her purpose. As far as Natasha concerned, whoever that small red-haired girl was, and whatever name she had carried with her, died the moment the Widows bought her. </p><p> </p><p>“You must’ve been given an identity, so what do I call you, sister?” Natasha said as she undid her waist belt and shrugged off her armor.</p><p> </p><p>Her sister flicked her gaze to Natasha’s with a mischievous little smile. Natasha always liked that about her and she turned away to disguise her own little smile. “Yelena,” she said. Natasha snorted and Yelena tilted her chin indignantly. “I think it suits me, <em> Na-ta-sha </em>,” she said, nudging Natasha with her foot as she spoke each syllable before she sat back down beside her. “I’m to pose as your thrall. A gift from Ross, who will be arriving with his men tomorrow to celebrate your marriage to the big scary warlord. I came ahead of Ross and his dull band of warriors to see you.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha gave her a wan smile and rested her head in her hands as she watched the fire. “I’m… glad you’re here,” she admitted. “I’ve been gathering intelligence, but I’m not sure my target is even human.” She sighed, softly, watching the flicker of the fire in contemplation. “And… There’s a spy in his employ. The young warlord likely has more at his disposal, but this man is…” She couldn’t help herself from imagining Steve’s discerning blue eyes, his easy smile. “Troublesome.”  </p><p> </p><p>Yelena was quiet beside her, watching her in tense silence. She supposed her sister had never seen her waver before. Not even as children. Natasha shook herself and stood up, moving to undress and get ready for the feast. “I’m supposed to bed the target, murder him, but I don’t know if it’s possible.”</p><p> </p><p>Yelena’s eyes grew wide at her admission and Natasha smirked. “Natasha… is this your Widow mission?” Natasha just nodded in response and Yelena smiled, her expression laced with envy. “Congratulations, my dear sister.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha couldn’t help the flicker of pride at her sister’s words and Yelena stood to help her. “Do… do they have a name for you yet?” </p><p> </p><p>“Black Widow,” she said. She liked the feel of it on her tongue, the way the name sounded in her ears. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena’s eyes were bright in the dim flicker of the hearth fire, a tiny smile on her face. “Black Widow,” she repeated softly. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha felt her insides curl. When Yelena said it, it felt like a promise. The sound of her true name settled over her, and she smiled. It was nearly hers— an identity of her own. It lit a fire in her belly, renewed her sense of purpose. Whatever plagued her before faded, her guilt was gone, her uncertainty was gone. She wanted it, she wanted that name.</p><p> </p><p>Yelena clasped her hands, shaking off her excitement. “What do you need right now, sister?” she asked. “What can I do?” </p><p> </p><p>“There is a feast,” Natasha replied. “I’ll tell you the details later, but my target will be there and I intend to make him mine.” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena smiled, and without another word, she turned and opened the clothing trunk and rooted through the dresses Strucker had supplied. They belonged to Natasha— the <em> real </em> Natasha. It was obvious from the quality of the materials that Strucker had doted on her. But his daughter wasn’t as voluptuous as she was, and was perhaps a little taller. In the early days of her arrival, Natasha had altered some of the dresses to fit her better, taking in the hemline and letting out some of the seams to better accommodate her bust and waist. Some of the casual dresses fit well, though the finer dresses still snugly hugged her curves. That was fine with her, she had intended to wear them to entice Storm Bringer anyway. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena held up a few options while Natasha continued to undress, pulling off her tunic and moving to untie her breeches. </p><p> </p><p>“Any colours he seems to favour?” her sister asked. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha stepped out of her boots and tugged her breeches off. “Just give me a colour that suits me best.” </p><p> </p><p>She took the cap off that protected her hair and began to undo it from its braid. </p><p>Yelena selected an under layer dress made of fine wool dyed a rich, deep purple. The neckline and sleeves were trimmed with embroidered flowers. She pulled it over Natasha’s head and helped her arms through the fitted sleeves while Natasha drew her hair from its binding and let it loose around her shoulders. Yelena then retrieved the apron layer and handed it to Natasha before returning to the trunk for accessories. Natasha put on her layered apron over top the purple dress. It was a deep green, the top of the garment beaded and ornate, the hem bordered with gold thread. Yelena turned fixed the straps securely with silver brooches attaching a layered string of beads to hang across her chest. Natasha took her hair up and began to section it off as her sister wrapped an ornate cloth belt around her middle to better define her waist and hips. When she was finished, Yelena took over fixing her hair, handing Natasha a simple ribbon affixed with a silver medallion to wear around her neck. Natasha tied the necklace around her throat while her sister twisted and braided her hair.</p><p> </p><p>“Rings? Earrings?” Natasha asked. </p><p> </p><p>She felt Yelena shake her head as she braided her wavy red tresses.  “Better keep it simple.” </p><p>Yelena soon finished off  her hair, leaving it in an ornate knot that twisted down the base of her neck before flowing loosely down her back. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha turned to her and held her hands out. “Well?” She said looking down at herself.</p><p> </p><p>Yelena sighed. “I hate these Northmen apron dresses,” she said as she reached out and opened the vee of the purple layer Natasha wore. She tugged the neckline down as far as it would go and pulled the apron down with it. It still only exposed the hollow of her throat and top of her breastbone. “It’s hard to show much skin.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha smirked. “They dress for the weather. It’s cold here, sister.” </p><p> </p><p>She frowned. “I hate that too.” Yelena reached out to pinched her cheeks until she felt the burn of rosiness flood into her face and her sister focused on her lips next, rubbing colour into them before Natasha swatted her away with a smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Am I presentable now?” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena smirked, and stepped back, appraising her proudly. “If he doesn’t end the night wishing he could take you to bed, he’s a fool.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha smirked. This was something she could control at last. Her training taught her how to seduce, to entice, and it was comforting she could rely on that. Despite the irritating complications during her intelligence gathering with Steve, she had at least discovered that Storm Bringer was a man in some ways, and, if Steve was right, that he respected her as well. Her aim now was to leave him in no doubt that she wanted him, that she was meek and unassuming as well as sexually enticing. His mortality she could work on discovering with Yelena’s help, but now she wanted to wrap him around her finger. </p><p> </p><p>Her sister’s smile widened, perhaps pleased to see her resolve return, that moment of uncertainty and weakness dissolve. “Good luck sister,” she said. “I must return tonight to come in with Ross and company tomorrow. They aren’t far off. We’ll be coming in from the East. Tell me everything then. I want to know of your prey, of the spy he keeps, of your success tonight.” </p><p> </p><p>“Until tomorrow, sister,” Natasha said as she turned and unlatched the door to head to the feast. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>As she made her way into the chilled evening, it was clear that the feast was well under way. Natasha slipped into the hall and quickly surveyed the crowd. Like the mead hall, Strucker’s longhouse was alive with the rowdy ruckus of hundreds of warriors drinking and eating. It was warmly lit, furnished with hanging animal skins, circular shields, and long tables and bench seating along the walls. The high ceiling supported by thick, timbre beams that ran the length of the massive hall and the solid wooden floorboards led like a path toward the host’s table, which was raised on a small wooden platform. As she stood by the entrance, she drew the gaze of some of Agger and Storm Bringer’s warriors, who paused mid-drink to stare at her. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha hid her smirk, pleased that Yelena had been able to help her clean up. Their gawking told her all she needed to know about how she looked. She turned her attention to the far end of the hall and made her way toward her prey. At the head table the three warlords sat. Storm Bringer was the first to notice her. He turned his gaze away from Agger and watched her from across the room. Immediately she felt his presence like an embrace. Cosmic energy enveloped her and she swallowed hard, fighting against the knot forming in her throat. Natasha shook herself, determined to stay focused. Part of her aim tonight was to test if she could build something of an immunity to his overwhelming power. She needed to assess how this strange energy might affect her when she was intimate with him on their wedding night. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha made sure to smile shyly as she approached and tucked her hair behind her ear. Storm Bringer never took his eyes from her, his lips parting in amazement. He was clean, his tunic fresh and richly coloured. It was deep red and form-fitting with borders around the neckline, which was opened into a vee where he hadn’t laced it closed. He wore a fur mantle fastened around his shoulders. Storm Bringer seemed reluctant to abandon his armor completely though— he still wore leather bracers on his forearms and kept his helmet on. Natasha wondered if anyone had tried to take his life with a bolt to the head. This place might be as good as any to try and kill him. A crossbowman could take his life in the hall. Natasha slid her gaze to Agger and Strucker, who watched her approach with growing interest. Maybe he wore his armor for their benefit, as a show of power. He cut an intimidating figure, towering godlike above the old warlords, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer stood when she neared, stepping up to the table. His strange gaze flickered and Natasha shook off his oppressive presence to speak.  “My lord,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>He was speechless for a moment. “Natasha,” he said. “You look—”</p><p> </p><p>Agger interjected, already drunk. “Odin’s <em> beard </em> . <em> That’s </em>your daughter, Strucker?” He laughed and ribbed Strucker, who glowered in his seat. “She must take after her mother.” </p><p> </p><p>Strucker glanced at her, his expression tinged with sorrow for a moment before he looked contemplatively at his tankard of ale. “You look well, daughter,” he said quietly. </p><p> </p><p>“Aye, she looks better than <em> well </em>,” Agger said, a predatory smile on his face. The fool, he was too drunk to know better than to lust after her so openly. “In fact—“</p><p> </p><p>“You’re too kind,” Natasha said, steering the conversation away from whatever lewd remark he was about to make. </p><p> </p><p>She could feel the anger radiate from Storm Bringer as he glared down at the old warlord. But Agger persisted. “We’ve no seat for you,” he said gesturing to the chairs. “Well unless…” he stroked his lap with a lazy grin. </p><p> </p><p>“Unless you’re kind enough to give up yours,” Storm Bringer said, turning to tower over the old warlord. The pressure in the room was becoming cloying. It was enough to cut through Agger’s drunken lust, his eyes growing wide as he stared up at the Aesir. He blustered, sputtering. </p><p> </p><p>“I think not!” he growled. </p><p> </p><p>“Agger—“ Strucker warned, his face pale, his terror plain.  </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer was visibly angry now. The sharp ozone hung in the air, his oppressive energy swirling around him, filling the longhouse with a crackling pressure that made Natasha’s hair stand on end. Thinking quickly, she took Storm Bringer’s hand and nearly yelped at the sensation. The Aesir tore his gaze from Agger to stare at her. Natasha drew a shallow breath in. </p><p> </p><p>“Storm Bringer,” she said, her voice quavering. “Don’t pay him any mind. Come sit and I’ll keep you company.” </p><p> </p><p>He looked at her, his expression tense and furious. Her hands began to tingle and numb where she touched him and she hoped he’d answer her soon. He exhaled sharply, the pressure dissipating a little. “Of course,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer turned away, grabbing his tankard of ale from the table and taking a long drink. From over her shoulder, Natasha threw a pointed look at Agger, who glowered in his seat. Strucker shot her a brief glance and quickly reigned him in, drawing him close with an arm around his neck. She turned her back to the old warlords to survey the Aesir, who finished off his ale with a sigh. He clearly was still upset, and Natasha gently took it from his hand when he finished. </p><p> </p><p>“Allow me,” she said, glancing up at him with a shy smile. He softened at her expression and Natasha turned and refilled his ale. He still stood, watching her with a strange look and Natasha laughed a little. It was hard not to feel dwarfed by him— his strange presence, his huge stature and muscled physique were overwhelming. Maybe she could bring things down to her level. “Relax” she said, sliding her palm over his chest. Her fingers came just shy of the light dusting of golden chest hair peeking from his opened tunic. He wore no armour beneath his clothes as she had originally suspected. Storm Bringer’s lips parted, and she felt his heart quicken against her. “Please, have a seat,” she said, pushing him gently. He obeyed, drifting back into his chair. Natasha handed him his ale and he blinked, clearing his throat a little. He moved as though he expected her to perch on the armrest of his chair, but Natasha smiled shyly. </p><p> </p><p>She prepared herself before she gracefully slid to sit in his lap, her hand tracing up his arm to hold him for stability. Immediately, she could feel him coil with tension beneath her. The energy he radiated hummed through her, giving her goosebumps, and she did her best not to shiver. “I’d be more comfortable here, my lord,” she said softly. </p><p> </p><p>His body was solid, every inch of him lean, powerful muscle. Almost instinctively, his broad hand curled around her waist to hold her securely, and Natasha stiffened at his touch. Surprised, he met her gaze, his glowing eyes wide and she put on a modest smile.  “If that’s alright with you,” she added. </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer paused, a tiny smile playing at his lips. From this close Natasha could see the different shades of blonde, and even a bit of auburn, in his beard, and the intricate patterns etched into his helmet. His eyes were a soft glow, strange to behold, like her eyes couldn’t quite register the light. “I did not take you to be so forward,” he said. His voice was a rich warmth that resonated in her belly. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha relaxed a little, finally in her element. She could work with this. By the end of the night he’d be wrapped around her finger if she played this right. She shifted, settling more comfortably on the Aesir’s thigh. He adjusted to better accommodate her and Natasha leaned in close to speak with him. </p><p> </p><p>“Normally, I’m not,” she lied. “But I find you’re far more comfortable than any seat, and I can hear you much better over the din from this position.” Storm Bringer hummed in amusement and Natasha wasn’t quite sure he believed her so she leaned to murmur in his ear, making him her confidante. “Truthfully, I want Agger to squirm with jealousy,” she said quietly. She sat back to appraise his response to her declaration. There seemed to be a gleam in the Aesir’s eye and Natasha knew she had found an in. She smiled warmly and leaned against him. “Do me a favour and look over my shoulder and describe what his face looks like.”</p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer laughed and she felt it rumble pleasantly through her body. Natasha tried not to grit her teeth at the sensation. She imagined she was growing accustomed to him, though she couldn’t be sure what it would be like to touch his bare skin. </p><p> </p><p>“You are wicked,” he said. But he obliged her, turning his face to peek over her shoulder at Agger. “Oh, Natasha,” he said as he shifted in his seat. His hand pressed her waist and she shivered, her breath catching in her throat. “I have never seen a man so angry.” </p><p> </p><p>He peered over her shoulder again and quickly looked ahead, lifting his tankard to his lips to take a drink. It was amusing how unsubtle he was. “What does he look like?” she murmured. “Tell me of his expression.”</p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer leaned forward closer to her. Immediately, she was overwhelmed by the proximity of him. Just when she was growing acclimated, she was quickly overtaken by his intensity. It seemed to grow and change with his mood, and she knew he was genuinely pleased. She could taste how powerful he was, feel his godlike presence in her chest. She shuddered to think of him kissing her, of him taking her to bed. “He looks as though he ate spoiled meat,” he mused. He quickly stole another glance at the old warlord and stifled a laugh. “He looks this way,” he said in a hushed tone. Storm Bringer leaned a little closer to her and she was struck by the humour in his eyes. “He will discover our game.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha put on her best laugh and reached for the ale jug, doing her best to set aside the strange energy humming through her. “He will do no such thing,” she promised as she poured him a draught. “Can you see him from here?”</p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer leaned back and drank deeply, stealing a glance at Agger as he did. “Aye, I can.”</p><p> </p><p>“I will plant the mark and you will observe him.” Storm Bringer chuckled, fascinated by what she might do next. Natasha smiled and reached for the spread of fruit, chose a berry, and rolled it between her fingers before facing the Aesir and holding it to his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>“Here, my lord,” she said loudly enough for Agger to overhear. Storm Bringer met her gaze, the inhuman glow of his eyes impossible to read. But she could feel him— the sudden race of his heart against her arm, the way he shifted and flexed beneath her, his body coiling with tension. Natasha smiled reassuringly and touched the berry to his lips. She noticed the slight hitch in his breath, the way his hand curled a little into her dress. Hesitantly, Storm Bringer opened his mouth and she pushed the berry past his lips. She made sure her fingers followed, just barely dipping into his mouth enough to meet the wet heat of his tongue as he took the berry. A current shot up her arm at the brief contact in a tingling rush that gave her goosebumps. She quickly withdrew, brushing her fingers along his lower lip as she pulled away.</p><p> </p><p>She played off the tension she felt, quickly gathering herself as if she hadn’t noticed how she had touched him. “What is his expression now?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>But Storm Bringer was silent, his tongue darting out to lick his lips briefly as if erasing the contact— or perhaps savouring it. He quickly drank more ale and Natasha exhaled slowly. He was just a man, she reminded herself. </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer’s smile was tight, his laugh shaky. “I confess I missed it,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha hid her smile. She prodded him playfully instead and he flinched, a little laugh rumbling through him. “You had the most important job!” she teased. She knew full well what she was doing to him, and it gave her a kind of pleasure to know she had some measure of control over him. “I shall feed you another, but you must watch this time!” </p><p> </p><p>She reached to take another berry from the spread, but when she turned back to him, he took her wrist. The sensation of his bare skin on hers unsteadied her, made her hyperaware, and her lips parted in surprise. Storm Bringer smoothed his thumb over her pulse, his touch agonizingly slow. </p><p> </p><p>“Natasha,” he said, his voice husky. “Let us resume this game later, Agger has shrunk back in defeat.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha shuddered an exhale and turned to see Agger and Strucker deep in conversation. Her ruse was finished. Before she could save face, Storm Bringer shifted her, easily turning her to face the table. He leaned forward, his chest pressed against her back, his hand gripping her hip. His words were a rich curl of sound that she could feel through their bodies. “I wish you to eat and drink your fill and tell me of your day.”</p><p> </p><p>Her skin felt alive, the unearthly power he possessed made it hard for her to focus. She swallowed hard, doing her best not to frown. He made it so hard for her to stay in control. Natasha shook herself and eyed the spread of food and realized how famished she was. She had been out with Steve all day, and went straight to drinking with him after the hunt. When she was on a mission she rarely thought of her own needs; they weren’t important. Everything was secondary to her objectives. Storm Bringer nudged her, his hand firm on her hip. “What say you, my lady? Are you game for that?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha nodded, something unfamiliar growing within her. It was an uncertainty, a fragility that she didn’t know how to respond to. She shoved it aside and tried to stay focused. Sensing her hesitation, Storm Bringer squeezed her gently and she shot him a look. “Try the venison,” he prompted, “or the sweets, if you prefer those.” She turned to stare at the abundance of food before her. The uncertainty grew and her heart pounded in her ears. Perhaps this was merely due to the exposure to Storm Bringer’s earthly presence. She felt closed in, trapped. “You can have whatever you like, Natasha.” His words sounded far away, his breath on her back too warm. “What is your preference?”</p><p> </p><p>Something within her split and she felt as though she’d be sick. It was so incredibly foolish that the Aesir’s gentle question would stir something so wildly dangerous in her. But she couldn’t help it— <em> what do you want, Natasha? </em> It wasn’t fair. Steve’s words echoed in her mind and she clutched Storm Bringer’s tunic. Now wasn’t the time for that ridiculous notion, but she felt frozen, unable to decide anything. </p><p> </p><p>Her training kicked in and responded for her. “I don’t know,” her voice sounded strange in her ears. She felt as though she floated outside herself. “You choose for me.” </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer paused and chose a thick slice of hearty bread for her and some stew and ale. She smiled gratefully, her body moving without her say-so. She ate unconsciously, the taste not registering with her. What was wrong with her? What was happening? She couldn’t account for it. The more she tried to puzzle it out, the more the awful feeling grew. It was all she could do to keep herself from trembling. She envisioned Steve’s striking eyes, his soft words. <em> Does any of this make you happy?  </em></p><p> </p><p>Natasha stopped suddenly, unable to make herself play along anymore. The disappointment almost threatened to undo her. This was her Widow mission— the title she worked so hard for was within her grasp, and she was ruining it.</p><p> </p><p>“Natasha?”  Storm Bringer gently squeezed her, his voice laced with concern. “Are you unwell?” </p><p> </p><p>She was. Something was terribly, terribly wrong with her. For a moment, she couldn’t answer him, her words caught in her throat. “I— I think I need some air,” she finally said. </p><p> </p><p>As soon as she spoke the words, Storm Bringer was up and she was on her feet. He held her shoulder as if worried she would faint. “Allow me to escort you,” he said softly. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha was vaguely aware of his guiding hand on her back. She felt out of sorts, confused and unsettled. When they were in the frigid night air, she was relieved, though she couldn’t recall the walk outside. The wind whipped her cheeks and hair, soothing her flushed skin. Little flakes of white swirled around her and she closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath in. If her mistresses, if Yelena, could see her now, they’d be ashamed. <em> She </em> was ashamed. What on earth was that? She hadn’t felt anything like that before and so she took a moment to attack it, to tear it to shreds. She was disgustingly weak, infuriatingly soft, and now unbelievably angry with Steve for having such an effect on her. Everything she wanted was within reach if she could learn to destroy whatever weakness gripped her. That was part of claiming her Widow name, and she knew it wouldn’t be easy. Natasha refocused, remembering her purpose. <em> Black Widow. </em> The name had sounded so good, so <em> right. </em>She had to shed the part of her that made her question that. More than anything, she wanted to be reborn. The thought calmed her and Natasha exhaled, opening her eyes again. She could still salvage this. </p><p> </p><p>Turning to face her prey, Natasha put on an embarrassed smile. Storm Bringer watched her, his expression nearly impossible to read in the dim torch light. “Thank you,” Natasha said, lightly. “I felt a bit faint.” </p><p> </p><p>He seemed uncertain, concerned. His breath rose in a swirling cloud in the flickering light of the torches as he studied her. She gave him nothing amiss and he seemed to relax a little. “You are all right now?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha stepped closer, finding the strange energy a little more bearable. “I am,” she said. But it was the farthest thing from the truth. How could she allow herself to become so shaken? It was unforgivable. </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer sighed, his body language tense. “Forgive me, Natasha,” he said quietly. “I have been neglecting you,”</p><p> </p><p>She paused, appraising him. “I know you have a lot to oversee,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>“It is inexcusable,” he said. “I will soon be your husband and yet I haven’t made time for you.” His expression tight with frustration and he flicked his strange gaze to her. Natasha did her best not to squirm. “Tomorrow, I am yours.”</p><p> </p><p>She smiled, reaching to take his hand and ignoring the hum that prickled across her skin. Storm Bringer’s fingers curled slightly at the contact. “Do you mean that?” she asked. Time alone with him was exactly what she needed. She could apply more pressure without prying eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“I do,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha beamed at him, willing her smile to appear genuine, hoping that it reached her eyes. “Then it’s decided,” she said. “But for tonight, I want your company. I find I’m not ready to retire, and you still owe me stories of your exploits.” </p><p> </p><p>His answering smile was a relief. It told her that he believed her, that he enjoyed her company and wanted more of her. “Very well, my lady,” he said. Natasha squeezed his hand and he led her back inside to continue their revelry. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aha! Somehow I got this chapter out on time. Wheeee. Enter Yelena, Natasha's backup has finally arrived. She's one of my favourites in this story lol. I'll be aiming for a chapter out between Wednesday and Sunday next week.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. If He Bleeds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The feast lasted until first light. Storm Bringer had taken his leave before dawn and Natasha saw him off and left immediately after. Nobody noticed her absence— Agger drank until he passed out and Strucker had long retired to his private quarters in the longhouse. As soon as she was back in the quiet square of her turf house, she sagged against the door, her knees like jelly. Her head still swam with the Aesir’s unearthly power and she hadn’t realized how used to it she had become until she was no longer in his presence. It left her exhausted and strangely empty. Natasha crossed the room and flopped back onto her bed with a sigh. She stared at the ceiling in thought. Her eyes slid shut briefly, but she shook off the looming threat of sleep in order to plan her next moves. She had spent much of the night with her husband-to-be as she had him recount his victories in battle. As the night wore on he had become a little less guarded around her, though Natasha suspected it wasn’t due to drinking too much. He seemed pleased with her attention, and his behaviour toward her seemed to confirm that. </p><p> </p><p>Slowly, Natasha unlaced her necklace and unclasped her broaches, toying with the beads absently. Storm Bringer had promised her the day and she would use it to her full advantage. She had no idea what he had in mind, but she could use the time to gain his trust a little more and, if she was lucky, discover how best to kill him. Natasha sighed and massaged her face tiredly. She imagined she could still feel his tongue on the tips of her fingers and pulled her hand away from her face to examine it. If nothing else, tonight was proof Storm Bringer was interested in her. She recalled the race of his heart, the way his breathing hitched and shuddered at her touch. She clenched her fist tightly. He was just a man.  Tomorrow would be another chance to further her progress for the mission. Natasha turned on her side and settled in for a few hours of sleep.</p><p>
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</p><p>In the late morning, Natasha got up, threw on her cloak, and made her way to the longhouse for some breakfast. After the party last night, many of the warriors had remained in the hall and were now sleeping on tables, along the walls, or simply on the floor. She picked her way over sleeping warriors and took her pick of what was left of the feast offerings. Nobody would be up and ready until later this afternoon, though she expected Strucker to be awake to welcome his remaining ally when he arrived. She wasn’t entirely sure about Storm Bringer’s state. He seemed fine, no matter how much he drank, and Natasha chalked that up as a perk of his being Aesir. What she wouldn’t give for an ability like that.  She pilfered some bread and fruit, turning to leave the hall. </p><p> </p><p>On her way back to her little abode, something caught her eye, and she stopped mid-bite. Across the village she spotted her old cloak— the one she had given to Steve on their first encounter. It was still muddied from where he had leaned on her. It was a brief glimpse, enough to see the edge of it as he disappeared around the back of the mead hall. He must be wearing it as she had tauntingly instructed him to do. Natasha chewed slowly, calculating. What could he be up to? Something about this reeked of secrecy and she brushed her hands on her apron and made to follow. </p><p> </p><p>As she approached the outskirts of the village, she saw him disappear toward the beaches. The hood was drawn and he seamlessly wove around soldiers as he followed the trail cut into the embankments on either side. Natasha followed down the path, but the beach was swarming with Storm Bringer’s men, and Natasha cursed and casually made her way to the bluffs above to observe instead. She quickly spotted her cloak as he approached Storm Bringer. Natasha’s heart sank to see the Aesir. He looked commanding among his men, dressed simply in a dark blue tunic and his red cloak. He seemed no worse for wear, not even appearing tired after last night. He towered over his warriors, and her skin prickled with nervous energy as she watched Storm Bringer turn to meet his spy. She couldn’t read his expression from this distance, but he leaned in, his arm curling around the smaller man’s shoulder as he whispered something to him, and Natasha was gripped by a sinking feeling. Surely Steve would relay everything they had done together. But perhaps that was not the case… She saw the way Storm Bringer shifted, squeezing his spy as if in apology. The smaller man nodded sharply and she frowned. Had he been given a mission? She clenched her fists at the notion, hating not knowing about the goings on of her betrothed and his irritating warrior. Suddenly, Storm Bringer looked up to see her on the bluff and Natasha quickly fixed her gaze on her hands. </p><p> </p><p>She chewed her lip in irritation. She supposed she would have to wait to find out what Steve and Storm Bringer were up to. It annoyed her to be kept in the dark, but Storm Bringer wasn’t the only one who had spies as his disposal now. Yelena would soon be here to help, and now she had a job for her. </p><p> </p><p>A strange hum of metal and the familiar oppressive aura surrounding Storm Bringer heralded his arrival from above her and she looked up in time to see him land next to her. Natasha nearly jumped out of her skin. How had he materialized here so quickly? Did he jump up here? Was that even possible? Natasha reeled at the possibilities and Storm Bringer chuckled, his expression clearly amused. </p><p> </p><p>“Have you come to claim me, my lady?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha put on a smile and shot a glance back down to the beach. Steve was gone. “I didn’t hear you approach.” </p><p> </p><p>“Aye, I apologize for startling you.”  He said as he sat next to her. Her breath hitched at the overwhelming field surrounding him. In his hand, Mjölnir hummed and shimmered and her eyes fell on the weapon, her heart hammering in her chest. Natasha paled to look at it, cosmic energy radiated forth from it in a cloying pressure.  It felt as though it judged her, its power curling around her insides. She shook herself and tore her gaze away to look at Storm Bringer instead. </p><p> </p><p>“Did you… fly?” </p><p> </p><p>A boyish grin split his face and her lips parted in surprise. She’d never seen him look so carefree. “Would you like to see? I had hoped to take you out today.” </p><p> </p><p>She narrowed her eyes, skeptical that this wasn’t some kind of joke. “I suppose you’ll have to show me,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer laughed, bright and warm. He stood and offered his hand. Hesitantly, Natasha took it, doing her best to ignore the now-familiar sensation of his power tingling across her skin. “Very well,” he said, encircling her in his grasp. He pulled her tightly against him. Natasha’s breath hitched to be so near him again. It might be her imagination, but it seemed a little easier to manage this time. She slotted against him and he held her firmly by the small of her back. She shivered at the contact. “You must hold on, my lady,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha hooked her arms around his neck and he adjusted his grip on her, giving her a tiny smile. Something mischievous in his expression made her suddenly regret agreeing to this, but it was too late now. Storm Bringer swung Mjölnir and before she knew what was really happening, they were airborne. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha clamped her arms around him with a surprised squeak, holding him in what was surely a death grip. She couldn’t make herself relax and part of her feared she might accidentally strangle him. But Storm Bringer laughed, and she could feel it reverberate through his chest and into her marrow. She was not afraid of heights— that wouldn’t do for a Widow, but the sensation of flight, of weightlessness brought out a primal fear in her. Natasha curled so tightly against him, her face burrowed into his neck as she held on. </p><p> </p><p>“I will not drop you, Natasha.” Storm Bringer’s gentle words cut through her panic enough to calm her. If he wanted, he could simply let her go and watch her fall to her death, but he held her so tightly, so securely that she trusted him enough to lift her head and peek over his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>Her coppery flyaways fluttered around her eyes and her fingers curled into his cloak. It was as she imagined in her dreams, the ground fell away, the tiny village below bustled and people moved about like insects. But it was so much more than that. There was a freedom to this, a strange euphoria that she hadn’t ever felt before. She drew a breath, and imagined she could taste it— sharp and cold. Was this what it felt like to be a god? The wind whipped her, brisk and refreshing on her skin. Overhead, the sun warmed her, inviting and welcoming. She closed her eyes and greedily took in the sensation. She wished for just a moment that he’d never set her down. </p><p>But Storm Bringer shifted, angling them downward to land. Natasha’s stomach flipped at their descent, and she froze and burrowed against him again. He landed lightly and chuckled when Natasha didn’t let go of him. He squeezed her gently, his hand warm and strong on her waist. He turned his head to speak softly in her ear. His words were warm, tinged with humour.</p><p> </p><p>“We have landed, my Natasha,” he said.  </p><p> </p><p>Shakily she loosened her grasp, around his neck and he bowed a little to let her feet touch the earth. She let out a breath and curled her fists into his cloak, unable to think of anything to say. Part of her was thankful, tender, and she couldn’t explain why. It was as though he had gifted her something precious. Natasha quickly shrugged off that idea and looked around, stunned. He had taken them to the fjords on the other side of the deep woods.  It would’ve taken hours to traverse the terrain to get here and even then, she never would’ve been able to find the place he had picked out to show her.  They had landed on a ledge deep in the heart of the craggy landscape. Sheer, unscalable rock towered at their backs and a steep embankment led to the jewel green of the ground below. This place felt private, untouched. It was strange to imagine that no one had set foot on this ground before them. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s beautiful,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>She released him and turned to face the snow-capped cliffs opposite them. The ocean flowed between them in a narrow inlet of deep azure blue, the pale sun glittering on the water like diamonds. It was rugged, a mix of deep greens, blacks, and blues like she had never seen before. </p><p> </p><p>“I wager there is no better view in Midgard,” Storm Bringer said. </p><p> </p><p>There was a kindness to him that pressed that tender spot within her. It was strange to think he was doing this for her, that he truly wanted to spend time with her. Natasha swallowed, surveying the landscape quietly. She couldn’t let herself be so vulnerable, she was here for a purpose. <em> What do you want, Natasha? </em> She exhaled slowly, her hands curling into the fabric of her dress. It was easy— she wanted to be whole. She wanted to finish this mission. Natasha shut herself off from this wonder, this weakness. Growing close to her target, his world, his <em> heart </em> and knowing what she had to do to him became more difficult when he was good to her. She turned her mind to work instead. When the time came to finish the job, she would be ready. </p><p> </p><p>“I’d wager you’re right,” she said, breathless. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha stepped closer to the ledge as if she was enraptured by the spectacular scenery. As she toed the edge of the steep embankment, she was struck by an idea. He used his hammer to fly— this might be an opportunity to see how well he wielded it. She chewed her lip, the rocks skittering down the edge. Would he save her if she were to lose her footing and fall? She shot him a brief glance as he came up beside her. It would be disastrous if he didn’t. Natasha assessed the incline of the embankment, eyeing the sharp crags and stone hidden beneath green and yellow moss. The fall wouldn’t kill her, but she’d be bedridden for a few days if she was lucky, seriously injured if she wasn’t. But when would she have another opportunity like this? She returned her attention to the waters below, weighing her options. How badly did she want this? She inhaled, eyes fluttering shut. <em> Black Widow </em>. She could taste the name, feel it hang above her. She imagined how good it might feel to slip into it like a skin. What euphoria might she feel then? She had seen sisters graduate, seen the looks in their eyes as they became the makers of fate. Maybe it would feel like flying. What was she willing to give to make it happen? She curled her hands into her dress. </p><p> </p><p>“Be careful of the edge, Natasha,” Storm Bringer warned. He <em> sounded </em> suitably concerned. And everything she had learned about him so far suggested he was kind, good… </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry,” she said, turning to him. He stepped closer and she reached out her hand. It was easy to make like she meant to step away from the edge, easy to make it seem like she lost her footing, slipping on the loose rock. It was strange how similar the feeling of falling was to flying. She didn’t have to force her body’s reaction, the way her stomach dropped, her heart raced. His expression as her hand slipped away from his was one she had often seen—  horror, <em> fear </em>. She wondered if he might look the same way when she killed him. </p><p> </p><p>The impact was sharp when she hit the ground. The air was forced from her lungs, she heard the sharp crack of metal on stone. But she felt nothing. There was no pain, only the unbearable hum of Storm Bringer. They tumbled down the embankment, rolling until she came to a stop and when she opened her eyes, dizzied and swirling, she found herself encased in his arms. He lay atop her, heavy and solid. His arms were wrapped around her, his broad hand protected her head, legs curled over hers. He was tense, and she could feel the heat of him, the race of his heart as he held her fast. She’d never felt so small. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha whimpered, and he released her uncurling to brace himself above her. She imagined she could see the flicker of his strange eyes as he searched her face, his hand still cradling her head like she was fragile, precious. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low and warm. He sounded shaken. Natasha blinked and he hesitantly smoothed her hair from her face. Her skin tingled where he touched her and she nodded, using the opportunity to curl against him as if she was still reeling from the shock. It was hard to focus with him so close again. </p><p> </p><p>She made herself sound shaken, fragile. “I— I slipped.” </p><p> </p><p>He shifted, bracing himself above her to better assess her. “You frightened me half to death,” he said. “Are you sure you are unharmed?” </p><p> </p><p>She could see his tunic sleeve was torn and ragged from where he’d struck the embankment. He shifted, moving to help her sit up and it didn’t escape her notice that he winced. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re hurt,” she said almost in disbelief. Her heart leapt into her throat. It seemed impossible, but a glimmer of hope burst within her and she tried not to let her excitement show. </p><p> </p><p>“I am fine, Natasha,” he assured her. But Natasha rolled to her knees, putting on her best show of guilt, concern. She reached for him, her hands probing as she ignored the hum of his power to touch him, to search for his injury. She was rewarded when she touched his side and he sucked in a pained breath. </p><p> </p><p>“You aren’t fine,” she said, gently pushing him to lean back. </p><p> </p><p>“Do not worry for me, Natasha,” he protested, as he let her guide him to lie back. He braced himself on his arm as she grasped at the belt around his waist. He flinched when she undid it and unwrapped it from his middle. “Really I—” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha gently rolled up the hem of his tunic to reveal the muscled planes of his body. He was a sight to behold, impossibly strong and lean. Everything about him was chiseled, his skin was smooth, warm to the touch, and hair trailed down in a golden line over his abdomen and navel. Storm Bringer shifted, his surprise obvious and his body flexed and contracted. Natasha paused for a moment, turning on her naive timidness as she inspected him. This sight really had no effect on her. She could not count the times she and brothers and sisters were stripped bare for training, punishment, inspection. Bodies were insignificant, a tool in the arsenal, but Storm Bringer seemed flustered by her attention. She pulled his tunic up a little more and the sight filled her with glee. He was bleeding. A ragged tear was torn into the flesh on his ribs, red and a swelling. It wept blood, and Natasha swept it away with her thumb to confirm. It took all this to make him bleed and even then it was a shallow wound. But she was certain of herself now; if he bled, she could kill him.</p><p> </p><p>“It looks bad,” she said softly. “I’m so… so stupid. You might’ve died.” </p><p> </p><p>“Please, my Natasha, I am alright,” he reassured her. “It takes far more than a little fall to kill me.” </p><p> </p><p>Her eyes drifted to his throat. She’d be sure to cut deeply then. </p><p> </p><p>“Can you sit?” she asked. “I’ll tend your wound.” </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer nodded and she scrambled to the inlet to dip her cloak into the water and collect herself. Finally. This was finally what she needed. No more being thrown off course by strange cosmic power, or nosy Northmen spies. She was finally making headway. When she returned, her betrothed was sitting up, watching her. She knelt and carefully reached under his tunic to press the wet fabric to his wound. He flinched at the contact and part of her was amused that he felt pain so easily. But she kept her expression carefully neutral, surveying the scrapes etched into his helmet where his head had struck the rock. He was fortunate to be wearing it— not that he ever seemed to take it off. </p><p> </p><p>“Why do you wear this?” She asked, tracing the jaw guard of his helmet. “I hope not to protect yourself from your clumsy bride.” </p><p> </p><p>He chuckled, a little smile pulling at his lips. “To hide,” he said simply. “I must protect myself from spying eyes until this is settled. There are those that wish me dead.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha averted her gaze, appearing thoughtful. He had no idea how close he was to one of those people. She feigned innocence. “The same men who force you to use Storm Bringer as your name?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aye, and others. I have many enemies.” He watched the clouds overhead with a grave expression. “When this is over, I will finally claim my rightful name.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thor?” she asked,</p><p> </p><p>He studied her, his gaze steady. “Aye,” he said softly. </p><p> </p><p>She busied herself with checking the gash on his side. “Then… May I call you that? You said before that there were circumstances that prevented you from using it, but when we are alone… may I call you by your rightful name?</p><p> </p><p>He was thoughtful, his expression unreadable. “Aye… I think I might like that.” </p><p> </p><p>She smiled shyly. “Thor,” she said, testing out the name. He gave her a tiny smile in return. “I wouldn’t want to call you Storm Bringer on our wedding night.” He looked at her wonderingly, and she flicked her gaze to meet his. “Perhaps you’ll show me how handsome you are then.” </p><p> </p><p>“And if I was not?” he asked. He appeared thoughtful, troubled and Natasha feared she’d made a misstep. “If I were truly a jötunn, hideous ogre, what would you do then?” Natasha frowned, unsure of where he was going with this and he sighed, his gaze drifting to the ground. “You would have no choice in the matter, I suppose.” He paused for a moment, his lips pursed. “In my quest to end the reign of the old warlords, I have forgotten myself. I rushed into this negotiation without thinking of you, or what you might want. You were only a name to me then, but you are a person Natasha. I am ashamed of my carelessness.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha shifted her grip on the cloak pressed to the tear in his flesh, her brow furrowed. It shouldn’t matter what she thought of any of this, their marriage was a political agreement, nothing more. But his concern revealed a truth about him that she didn’t like— he was gentle, kind. Worse still, he seemed to care about her. Natasha exhaled slowly, cursing the thought as soon as it was in her head. She suppressed the swirl of unfamiliar emotion within her and forced herself to smile.</p><p> </p><p>“You are not careless,” she said. “You’re a good man— if you can be called that.” </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer cracked a smile and she returned her gaze to her hands. That was the truth. He was kinder than she deserved. The Widows said that the honeytrap was the hardest mission to run, and now she understood why. To truly become a Widow, she would have to destroy what was left of herself as well. That was the price of rebirth. He was a noble man, kind. A man of peace. Any shred of decency left in her would be gone the moment she took his life. There would be no coming back, no redemption from what she was tasked to do. </p><p> </p><p>“Truthfully, I did not anticipate your father’s surrender to be genuine. I was prepared for war when I landed.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha frowned. “Then… you didn’t want to marry me?”</p><p> </p><p>He smiled ruefully. “If it brings an end to this bloodshed, then I would wed any person of Strucker’s choosing. But I have the power to choose. What of you, Natasha? I had not considered what you might be giving up to be my wife. Was there no one before me? Were you ever in love with another?”</p><p> </p><p>Love? Natasha paused, her hands frozen on his body. It seemed like such a foreign concept to her. Love had no place in her life as a Widow. That was her destiny, the necessary sacrifice of the world she lived in. She had lived so long without it, that she hardly missed its absence anymore. Each year it hurt a little less to think about. Each life she took, each lie she told made it hurt a little less. In time, she might be like the master Widows and wouldn’t feel it at all. That’s all she wanted— she didn’t want to hurt anymore. She wanted to be untouchable.  </p><p> </p><p>“No… No I’ve never been in love,” she said. Storm Bringer seemed to sense a shift in her demeanor, his expression soft. Natasha quickly recovered, glancing shyly at him. “But… I think I am beginning to be.” Storm Bringer’s eyes widened, his lips parted in surprise. If he was so concerned about her feelings about the wedding, then she’d have to ensure he had no doubt that she wanted him. She fell into a timid silence, making herself out to be girlish, infatuated. He squirmed beneath her touch and she wondered if he blushed beneath his helmet. </p><p> </p><p>She deliberately returned her gaze to the task at hand, lifting his tunic again to examine his wound. “I believe the bleeding has stopped,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>“You are a proficient healer,” he declared, shifting to face her, his legs crossed.   </p><p> </p><p>Natasha pulled away, examining the dark wool of her cloak. “It was the least I could do,” she said. “How else can I repay you for saving me?” </p><p> </p><p>“Think nothing of it, Natasha,” he said. “I would not wish you to trouble yourself over an accident.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha moved in closer, taking him by the waist. His strange power raced up her forearms, but she hardly registered it anymore. “You’re good to me,” she said, hesitantly tracing her fingertips up his body. She delighted in the way his breath caught in his throat and revelled in the small measure of power she had over him. Storm Bringer turned his face toward her as if he would speak, but froze when Natasha moved closer. She made sure he was watching as she let her gaze drift down to his lips. His little exhale, the way he looked at her told her he was receptive to her. But she made him wait, drawing out this tension growing between them. The race of his heart beneath her palm seemed to confirm it— he was interested. Inwardly, she couldn’t have been more pleased. She didn’t miss the way he leaned in, the way his body language begged for contact. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps this was another opportunity to discover something about him.</p><p>Natasha closed the space between them to softly press her lips to his. Storm Bringer tensed in surprise and so did she. It was hard not to when touching him felt like a shock and she pulled away, feigning shyness.</p><p> </p><p>“Natasha…” his words were a gentle sigh, a hot rush against her mouth and her lips parted. She was close enough to see the shimmering blonde of his lashes. She wet her lips, her tongue coming just shy of his mouth and his lips parted. She gathered herself, and leaned in to kiss him again. </p><p>Pushing through the initial shock, Natasha willed herself to relax enough to curl into him. It was strange to kiss him— not entirely unpleasant, just strange. His beard tickled her face, his lips were soft and full against hers, and he smelled like a coming storm, sharp and sweet like the promise of rain. This time his response was much different. He moved into the kiss, into <em> her </em>. His hand slipped up her back and he uncrossed his legs, allowing her to move between them to press closer against him.</p><p>It was electric, a tingling sensation where their lips met as the strange current of energy buzzed through her, making it difficult to focus. He was gentler than she had expected, timid as though he didn’t want to hurt her. Gently, he cupped her neck, his thumb tracing the shape of her jawline, fingers curling over the nape of her neck. His touch sent an immediate wave of goosebumps rippling across her skin and the hair on her neck stood on end. She made an involuntary little noise at the sensation and Storm Bringer pulled away from her, his breath shaky.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha pulled back, embarrassed by the response she had. It would be a challenge to stay clear-headed on her wedding night if she continued to be overwhelmed by him so easily. For a moment he had nothing to say, and the silence grew long between them. </p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps I should fall more often,” he mused. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha feigned shyness, hiding her smile in her hands. “Don’t tease me, Thor,” she said warmly. </p><p> </p><p>He chuckled and she glanced at him through her fingers to find that he looked at her strangely, like he had expected a different reaction. “Very well, my lady.” </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer smiled and shifted away, getting to his feet. He moved with a hint of stiffness, though he seemed to be able to put off the pain of the fall he took with relative ease. He paused a moment, watching the waters of the inlet as he rubbed his mouth absently. It was satisfying to see she had such an impact on him, but she was still feeling electrified and strange, so she took a moment to collect herself as well. Perhaps this was enough for today. She had all the information she needed to go forward with the plan and Yelena would be coming in with Ross. She couldn’t wait to relay this development to her. </p><p> </p><p>When Storm Bringer offered his hand, she was surprised. She took it, the goosebumps rushing across her skin once more as he helped her to her feet. He towered over her, his expression soft as he held her hand. He gave her hand a squeeze, his smile growing. Natasha beamed at him in return, taking in his disheveled state. She traced her fingers over the torn fabric of his tunic sleeve in contemplation. </p><p> </p><p>“For now, I think we must return. I can’t see explaining how you came to be so injured and how I have sullied yet <em> another </em> one of my cloaks with blood,” she said,  </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer laughed at that. “You will have to recount that story for me,” he said, letting go of her hand to reach for the empty air. From the ledge above, Mjölnir flew, a shimmering blur that came straight into his hand. Natasha swallowed hard at the sight. Despite his vulnerability, she would still need to tread carefully. He looked at her strangely again, moving to tuck her stray hairs behind her ear. </p><p> </p><p>“I know you have not been invited to the wedding negotiations,” he said, “but I want you to approve the agreement as well Natasha.” He met her gaze and she shivered. His smile was warm, unbearably kind. “You are important to this union as much as any of them. Moreso, I should think.” Natasha made herself smile in return, pressing against him as she had when he had flown with her earlier. If nothing else, this was proof of his growing trust in her. “And when you agree on <em> your </em>terms, you shall name the date.”  </p><p> </p><p>How kind of him to let her determine the date of her graduation. “With pleasure,” she said. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I couldn't remember where I'd heard "If it bleeds, we can kill it" before and was like it's probably Shakespeare. Nope. It's from Predator lol. </p><p>This chapter was a huge pain to get done for some reason. I don't even know. I'll try for a post next weekend (Between like Friday and Tuesday next week).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Path</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The return back to the village was much more enjoyable for Natasha. As she watched the fjords disappear, she was filled with a sense of contentment.  She no longer feared the sensation of flight, and felt no need to hide in Storm Bringer’s shoulder this time, eagerly watching the skies above them instead. She could become acclimated to the feeling of flight just as she was becoming accustomed to his strange cosmic power. This was the first time since she had arrived in this forgotten little hamlet that she felt sure of herself. She had confirmed his mortality and now he appeared to be falling for her lure as well. Natasha couldn’t be more pleased. Now she had only to keep him interested, smitten until their wedding night. She sighed contentedly and gripped him a little more tightly, enjoying the breeze on her skin. Everything was finally falling into place. </p><p> </p><p>Soon the village came back into view. From way up Natasha could see the banners heralding the arrival of Ross and his men. From up here, he didn’t seem so intimidating. Storm Bringer landed by the woods on the outskirts of the village, setting her down lightly as he had before. He landed a little more roughly this time, his smile was tight and Natasha assumed it was due to his injury. She gently reached out and grasped his tunic, her eyes filled with concern. Inwardly it gave her a twist of pleasure to see him in pain. Let him suffer— it made it easier for her to soothe him, make him believe she cared about his well being. Storm Bringer gave her a reassuring smile before his gaze flicked to the village behind her and his expression soured a little. </p><p> </p><p>“Your father’s ally has arrived,” he observed. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha sucked in a breath and blew the hairs from her forehead. “How tedious,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>He smiled, bringing his attention back to her. “I suppose there will be another feast to welcome him.” </p><p> </p><p>Another opportunity for her to seduce him further. She wouldn’t be satisfied until he was wrapped around her finger, bent to her will. Natasha hummed, turning to look at the bustle of the village in the distance. Storm Bringer sighed. “Let us go greet him then,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps it was foolish of her, but she was so elated with this morning’s outcome that she felt the need to wield her growing control over him. “Not yet,” she said, stopping him before he could leave. Storm Bringer frowned in confusion and she smiled shyly, reaching up to tug him down by his tunic as she met him halfway on her tiptoes. Storm Bringer seemed surprised, he didn’t resist as she pulled him into another kiss, ignoring the strange hum of his lips on hers. The contact gave her goosebumps, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever get over that sensation. It unnerved her, made her hyper-aware. But the more she practiced, the more she might get used to it. It didn’t matter if she was uncomfortable, the success of the mission came first. Storm Bringer seemed to hesitate for a moment, but soon his arms were around her waist and he lifted her to his level to kiss her back. Natasha made sure to giggle, to squeal girlishly to encourage him. But she couldn’t help but be aware of his strength. His grasp was solid, unwavering. He was gentle with her now, but if this went wrong he was easily strong enough to kill her with his bare hands. His answering laugh was rich, vibrant and he broke away to gaze up at her, his grip on her unwavering. </p><p> </p><p>“You are a bold woman,” he mused, calling back to their first meeting. </p><p> </p><p>She grinned, her fingers tracing over his lower lip. His lips parted and her eyes drifted over his throat. “I know what I want,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>He smiled at her, his expression soft, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Natasha couldn’t understand that. There was a hint of uncertainty, a strange melancholy in him that she didn’t like.  She didn’t want him to have doubts. “Let us greet this new warlord,” he said as he set her down again. “Though I would much rather stay here in your company.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha sighed. Adopting her girlish persona once more, she pouted like a disappointed child. “I understand you have business to attend to,” she said. “Though we can resume this…  <em> discussion </em> whenever you like.” </p><p> </p><p>He laughed heartily at that and she walked arm and arm with him back to the village. </p><p> </p><p>When they arrived the village was chaos. It was crowded before, but now it was past capacity. Men carried items to and from the barracks and turf houses, Storm Bringer’s warriors stayed close to the mead hall, watching as Ross’s men scurried, and Strucker and Agger’s forces had arrived to see their new allies. Amid the centre of the chaos, Strucker and Agger were waiting for Ross to arrive in the village courtyard. Agger looked haggard, pale and hungover. Strucker fared a little better, though he shot Natasha an impassive look before he turned his attention briefly to Storm Bringer. The old warlord seemed irritatingly cagy today, perhaps still irked by whatever had set him off at the feast. He looked at her like he didn’t want to see her. It didn’t look good for the mission and she resolved to have words with him before the end of the week. </p><p> </p><p>Strucker turned away when an older man approached from the crowd of warriors, his demeanor stiff and prickly. He extended his hand to Strucker, who clasped it in return. Natasha moved closer, Storm Bringer at her side to greet the old warlord. While Strucker and Agger were on the younger side, Ross was much older. His hair was a coarse grey, pulled back into a simple braid with a beard to match. His face was weathered, scarred and worn like old leather. As she approached, he levelled his cool stare on her, calculating. He was grisled, battle hardened, and Natasha got the sense he was a dangerous man. Immediately, he set her on edge and she turned on her gentle naive persona like a shield. </p><p> </p><p>“My lord Ross,” she said. “I hope your journey here was swift.” </p><p> </p><p>His smile was something akin to a grimace. “You must be lady Natasha.” He flicked his gaze to Storm Bringer. It struck her that he wasn’t immediately afraid. He was the more levelheaded of the three. Natasha knew Ross and Strucker were enemies, but his presence here spoke of his pragmatism. He knew who the more powerful threat was and would do what it took to be rid of him. Idly, Natasha wondered if the warlords’  pact would end with Storm Bringer’s death and they would resume their bloody quest for power. It wouldn’t matter to her then. “And my lord Storm Bringer,” Ross grimaced, “a pleasure.”</p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer nodded, a tight smile on his face. Ross looked him up and down before turning back to Strucker. “I bring gifts to you, my new friend. For your generosity in hosting this wedding and fostering peace. You have given up your town, your beautiful daughter, and much of your wealth to make this happen.” </p><p> </p><p>Strucker narrowed his eyes, his teeth gritted into a pained smile. “Think nothing of it, my friend.” </p><p> </p><p>Ross shifted, a smirk on his face. Something told Natasha that he liked seeing his old enemy twist as much as she had. “I hope my gift of silver alleviates some of that burden,” he said, gesturing to the men carrying large trunks of the precious metal to the longhouse. Strucker smiled a little more genuinely to see it. Ross continued, “And my gift of thralls will assist with whatever else you need. I have all kinds at your disposal.”</p><p> </p><p>Strucker shot Storm Bringer a nervous glance. “You are kind, my friend. I— ” </p><p> </p><p>“I hope you brought women for my bed,” Agger interjected. He wasn’t hungover enough to leave out of this. Natasha could kill him. When this was all over, she might just pay him a personal visit. </p><p> </p><p>Behind her, Storm Bringer grew agitated, his energy oppressive, prickling. He had made it clear what his thoughts on thralls were during his arrival and Steve had revealed many of the soldiers fighting for the Aesir had been former slaves. Ross eyed Storm Bring briefly before he replied to Agger. </p><p> </p><p>“If that is what you choose, my lord,” he said with a hint of amusement. Natasha got the sense he was testing the Aesir. Storm Bringer’s anger grew, the energy around him swelling to a nearly unbearable degree. She’d have to remember not to make him angry. Ross exhaled sharply, but he continued on as if unaffected by the Aesir’s power. “And for you, my lady,” He shot a glance at his men, giving a short beckon. “I understand you have no companions or  servants of your own here, I hope this one will suffice.” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena stepped forward and Natasha nearly rolled her eyes. Her sister was overselling it, trying to make her laugh. Her posture was slumped and downtrodden, her lips a full quiver. She never looked up to meet her eyes. Natasha could feel all eyes on her and she gave Ross a faltering smile. “I— thank you my lord.” </p><p> </p><p>Ross met Storm Bringer’s gaze with a half smile. “Unless you would like this one for yourself, my lord.” </p><p> </p><p>Thunder rumbled overhead and the hair on the back of Natasha’s neck stood on end. For a moment, it was as though everyone forgot how to breathe. Storm Bringer’s anger was palpable, horrifying.  Yelena glanced up to meet Natasha’s frozen gaze, her expression tinged with terror. Ross swallowed hard, fear finally in his eyes. But he managed to crack a wry smile. “Quick to anger,” he mused. “I only jest, my lord.”</p><p> </p><p>The tension dissipated enough for Natasha to breathe and she turned to see Storm Bringer’s terrible anger. He stared at Ross, his eyes burning with a glowing rage. He seemed to almost shimmer with electricity and she got the sense she shouldn’t touch him. </p><p> </p><p>“My lord?” she managed. But he didn’t seem to hear her. Natasha wanted to demonstrate her success to her employers, so she tried again. “Storm Bringer,” she said, clutching his tunic. He tore his gaze away from Ross to look at her, and his expression softened a little when he saw how afraid she looked. He faced Ross again, putting on an easy smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” he said. “My mistake. Asgardian humour is different, I suppose.” </p><p> </p><p>When she turned back to her three employers, they were stricken. A small smile spread across Ross’s face, Agger looked envious, and Strucker quickly looked away. </p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t you see to your thrall, daughter?” he asked. “Perhaps you will join the four of us again this evening for a feast after we have our first negotiations.” </p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” Natasha said obediently. She turned to Storm Bringer, who looked agitated that she was leaving. “I’ll see you there,” she said. “I want to talk to you about…” she subtly shot a glance at Yelena and he seemed to catch her meaning. She didn’t want him to think less of her by believing she approved of owning thralls. </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer nodded and she gave his arm a little appreciative squeeze before she turned to her sister and reached out her hand. “What’s your name, sweet?” she asked as she took her and folded her arm in hers as she guided her away from the warlords and toward the longhouse. </p><p> </p><p>She and Yelena talked of innocent things, empty topics until they were out of sight of the warlords and Natasha quickly stole them away into the safety of the turf house. Once Yelena latched the doors and inspected outside for eavesdroppers, she turned back to Natasha, dropping her facade. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> That </em>was your target?”  </p><p> </p><p>Natasha smiled unable to disguise her amusement. “He is.”</p><p> </p><p> Yelena narrowed her eyes in confusion at her casual response. “What?” Yelena asked. When Natasha smirked, Yelena cracked a knowing smile. “Sister, what did you do?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha could hardly contain her excitement. “I made him bleed,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena paused, her eyes wide. She cracked a little smile. “You made him<em> bleed </em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. And I kissed him. Twice.”</p><p> </p><p>Yelena actually laughed at that and Natasha felt a tiny flicker of pride. “All in the time I was gone? Oh sister, you are something truly fearsome.” </p><p> </p><p>“He’s mine, I can’t believe it, but he’s mine.”</p><p> </p><p>Yelena sat on the bed, her eyes bright with wonder as she watched Natasha. “When is your wedding?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha sat with her, nudging her to move over. “He wants me to determine the date.”</p><p> </p><p>Her sister laughed at that. She knew Yelena was happy, but her laughter wasn’t genuine. It never was. It was safer that way and Natasha didn’t mind. She couldn’t remember the last time she had really laughed either. </p><p> </p><p>“How did you manage that?” Yelena said, amusedly. “Did you pleasure him as well?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha elbowed her in the ribs and her sister flinched and slapped her arm away.“No, just a kiss. And not even a very good one.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s a fool then,” Yelena said.</p><p> </p><p>“I think he might be,” Natasha sighed. “A happy fool.”</p><p> </p><p>“How fortunate for you. At least you can enjoy the attentions of a foolish god. If he wants to please you so much, perhaps he will aim to please you in bed as well.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha snorted at the idea. Pleasure was hardly the aim of a graduation mission. “Has such a thing ever happened during honey traps?”</p><p> </p><p>She had meant it as a joke, but Yelena became thoughtful. “Red Widow said her graduating mission gave her gratification.” She frowned. “Sometimes I think she still chases that.”</p><p> </p><p>An unfortunate side effect, Natasha supposed. Widows were meant to be above that. It was disgraceful to think of a Widow chasing her pleasure through her work, but the Red Room had deemed her worthy of the title, so she couldn’t object. When she was a Widow, she wouldn't be bound by her desires. “Becoming a Widow is the only gratification I need,” Natasha said.</p><p> </p><p>Yelena’s expression tightened, her grey eyes fixed on the empty hearth as she fell into a contemplative silence. Natasha frowned and glanced at her and she finally spoke. “Are you…” she began, “have you…” she frowned and tore her gaze from the fireplace to look at Natasha. Whatever she saw there made her change her mind. “Never mind.”</p><p> </p><p>Now Natasha was intrigued. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>Yelena looked away again, troubled. “Have you ever… <em> had </em>anyone before?”</p><p> </p><p>The question was a dangerous one, and Natasha was taken aback. Training in seduction was extensive, but the Red Room forbade intercourse with anyone. That was a right of passage earned by true Widows on their honey trap missions. It was part of the process of rebirth, of becoming a true Widow. She was to be married to the Red Room, widow herself for them. She would give them everything with this mission, including her virginity. It demonstrated her commitment to them— there would be no marriage, no lovers, no children or family outside of the Widows. With the final and full submission of her body, she will have given them everything. Her transformation would be complete. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha answered honestly. “No,” she said. “I haven’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Yelena looked at her with a spark of admiration. Her words were congratulatory, warm. “You walk the true path, sister. You’re a true believer, a real Widow.”  She knew her sister meant it, but something in her tone gave Natasha pause. She detected a tinge of regret. There were ways she could tease it out of her, manipulate and coerce her into giving up the truth, but… </p><p> </p><p>“Sister, have <em> you </em> slept with someone?”she asked. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena clearly wasn’t expecting a direct question. She faltered, and Natasha immediately knew she was keeping a secret. If she lied now, Natasha would know. There might be something to be said about the direct approach. She had Steve to thank for that. Yelena averted her gaze, appearing to assess whether to trust her. She knew she had been found out. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she said quietly. Yelena paused, glancing at her, but when Natasha didn’t speak she quickly added, “But it was only once.”</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t uncommon for sisters to break their commitment to the true path, as long as they weren’t caught. But it surprised Natasha to know that Yelena had broken her engagement. Becoming a Widow was all she talked about, she was the last person Natasha would’ve thought would break. Her heart sank and she met Yelena’s eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Sister, that’s <em> dangerous </em>.” It wasn’t an admonishment, it was fear. </p><p> </p><p>If the mistresses found out, her punishment would be severe. Transformation, rebirth and everything that it came with required submission. Sex outside of the Red Room’s orders was an act of defiance, a betrayal to the Widows. It demonstrated a lack of will. It was submission to fear, not discipline. It was abandonment of the true path. If the Widows ever found out what Yelena had done, she would be declared tainted until she could prove she walked the true path once more. </p><p>Yelena’s cheeks coloured slightly and she turned away. Natasha perceived a great fear in her. She could do a lot of damage with this information and they both knew it. </p><p> </p><p>“I know. I just… I was weak. It was two years ago on a mission. He was my partner. I thought…  I thought we were both going to die and when we didn’t, I…”</p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t finish the thought and Natasha’s blood ran cold. Sleeping with a stranger was one thing— easier to tie up loose ends. But sex with a Red Room brother, or worse, a Red Room <em> Soldier </em>, was incredibly risky. </p><p> </p><p>“Was he… a brother or?”</p><p> </p><p>Yelena’s expression was blank, her gaze fixed on the ground. She didn’t have to speak for Natasha to know he wasn’t. He had been a Soldier. She let out a little breath, her insides squirming. Often the first task of redemption was cleansing your mistake. Being sent to kill a civilian was easy, but killing a fellow Red Room trainee? Killing a Soldier? They were brutal, remorseless, and efficient. While Widows learned to manipulate and seduce and control, Soldiers were simply trained to endure. Natasha wasn’t privy to the ritual they underwent, but in combat they were in a trance-like rage, unable to feel pain, fear, or empathy. They were powerful instruments for the Red Room, directed at a target and set loose. Natasha had never seen a sister kill a Solider in combat, brothers maybe, as they hadn’t undergone their transformations. But when Soldiers fought, there often wasn’t anything recognizable left to bury. </p><p> </p><p>“I was weak,” Yelena admitted, flushed with shame. “I abandoned my training.” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena couldn’t meet her eyes and Natasha softened. It pained her that she felt the need to justify her actions. Her admiration seemed to make more sense now. In Yelena’s eyes, she must seem strong, unbreakable, pure in her intentions. The feeling made Natasha uneasy. It was dangerous to be held in such high esteem. She was just as fallible as any of her sisters. </p><p> </p><p>“Is he still living?” Natasha asked softly. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena shifted. “I don’t know,” she said. Natasha’s heart sank. It would’ve been easier if he was dead. Her little sister would be safer if he was. “But I’ve forgotten it, sister. It’s nothing more than training for me. I only regret that I am no longer on the true path as you are.” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena gave her a wan smile, one that Natasha knew well. It was an expression common in the Red Room. It was inoffensive, carefully neutral— she was upset. Natasha took her hand and squeezed it gently. Her sister blinked hard, her mask slipping. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ll be as true a Widow as anyone, sister,” she said.</p><p> </p><p>Her grey-eyed sister squeezed her hand in return, her expression blank. Yelena looked away, needing a moment to reign in her emotions. She never let go of Natasha’s hand. When she turned back to face her, she was smiling once more. </p><p> </p><p>“But enough of this,” she said. “Tell me of the foolish god’s troublesome spy.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha was glad to talk of something else. She smiled reassuringly and her sister squeezed her hand. “His name is Steve,” Natasha said, “son of Sarah.”</p><p> </p><p>Yelena seemed surprised at that. “A fatherless son?”</p><p> </p><p>“A bastard, yes. And a former thrall.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha told Yelena everything she knew. She left out no detail, no shred of information. She relayed his strengths, every perceived weakness she had discovered, <em> everything </em>. It felt good to unburden herself of this. When she stopped bearing the load of worrying about Storm Bringer’s counterspy, it became more objective, less personal. She could describe him as a sum of his parts, detached from any emotion she felt. As she spoke, she began to see Steve through Yelena’s eyes and her relationship with him became less tangled. His kind smile, his piercing eyes suddenly didn’t seem like much anymore, and she was relieved. It was horrifying that he had gotten under her skin. But now that her sister was here, Natasha was certain she could master this, destroy this softness for him. Whatever she had felt before was pity, and she was stronger than that. </p><p> </p><p>“He sounds like an easy mark,” Yelena said. “You uncovered a lot, getting him drunk like that.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha smirked at the memory of her interrogation of Steve. Truthfully, she was haunted by the way he had looked at her, the way he had spoken to her. She hated that he had uncovered a softness in her and nearly made her doubt herself. She hated his headstrong, stubborn attitude and the way he was so infuriatingly perceptive. She hated that even now, he took up space in her head. She hated <em> him </em>. “He promised he’d never drink with me again,” Natasha said.</p><p> </p><p>Her sister shrugged. “That’s fine. I have more than enough information to know what to do with him. What would you prefer I do? Seduce him? Tail him? Get him to leave you alone?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha frowned. “He is up to something. Storm Bringer sent him away this morning and I don’t know where.” </p><p> </p><p>“Tail him, then.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha nodded. Overhead, the sudden crack of thunder tore through the bustle of the village. Yelena startled, her hand hovering over her hidden blade and Natasha leapt to her feet to look out the window. </p><p> </p><p>“He’s a loud god as well as a foolish one,” her sister muttered. </p><p> </p><p>“He must be negotiating with the warlords,” Natasha mused. “It doesn’t usually go well, as you clearly saw.” </p><p> </p><p>“Shall I drop in on them?” Yelena mused. “Gather supplies under your orders?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha turned back to her sister. Her presence might be suspicious so soon after her arrival. “Leave the warlords be, but take a look around. You should know the layout of this place.” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena grinned and stood. “As my lady wishes,” she said mockingly. “What shall I fetch for you?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha rolled her eyes. “Bring me back whatever amuses you.”</p><p> </p><p>“A magpie mission it is.” Yelena declared. Natasha chuckled. </p><p> </p><p>“Just don’t steal anything I wouldn’t,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Her sister saluted and left the turf house to explore the village.  </p><p> </p><p>Natasha finally had a moment alone to think. She turned to the window and opened the shutters a little wider, leaning on the sill to take in the warmth of the sun, the cool bite of the breeze on her skin. Walking the true path wasn’t easy, but she wouldn’t stumble. Not when she was so close to perfection. Natasha exhaled slowly and closed her eyes, inviting the numbness into her once more. She suppressed her excitement over her success with Storm Bringer— that was arrogance. She suppressed her affection for her sister, her fear for her safety after learning she had broken her engagement— that served no purpose to the mission. She suppressed her anger at herself, her weakness in dealing with Steve— or she tried to. </p><p> </p><p>When she opened her eyes, she spotted her cloak disappearing into the woods again and irritation flashed through her. There he was. His presence seemed to mock her, unsettle her. What could he be doing? She chewed her lip, unable to tamp down the swirl of emotion within her. She should wait until she was ready to confront him. It would be easy to wait to send Yelena after him, but if she didn’t play this right, she might spook him and then she’d never know what he was up to. Natasha sighed. Would it be pressing her luck to go after him? She wavered by the open window watching the treeline where she had last seen him. Maybe she was still feeling the sweetness of success from her time with Storm Bringer, but she snatched up her cloak, drew the hood, and leapt out the window to follow. It might be overconfidence that spurred her, but she wanted to confront him. Maybe she could break his hold on her, get him out of her head so she could stay focused entirely on the mission. She had made great strides today and was determined to do the same with Steve. </p><p> </p><p>He had a head start on her, but it wasn’t difficult to pick up his trail. What did complicate things was when his footprints suddenly became many. Old tracks of hunters crossed over his, and fresh tracks too. The earth had been walked on until it was beaten down flat. It seemed more people than just Steve were using the woods without her notice. Natasha huffed, looking for a trail sign to pick up on. She would feel foolish if she followed him out here without finding him. She followed the direction of his path again, finally managing to pick up the trail. She didn’t need to bother with that though, she perked up when she heard his voice in the distance. It was faint, but it was him. She followed that instead, her brow furrowed in concentration. He was speaking to someone— not Storm Bringer… it was a woman’s voice. Natasha listened hard, hoping to overhear what he was saying, but she was still too far off. </p><p> </p><p>The woods went quiet again for a while and she cursed, searching for the trail once more. When she heard Steve again, he sounded much closer. But he wasn’t saying anything she wanted to overhear— he was singing. Natasha paused, a frown on her face. He had a beautiful voice— clear and warm as it drifted through the trees to find her. He was singing in a language she didn’t recognize. The song was gentle, tender, edged with something melancholic and indescribable. It wrapped around her like an embrace. Her feet felt rooted in place as she listened, her heart hammering in her chest. Natasha blinked hard, forcing herself to keep going. Steve would break off and hum some bars as though he didn’t quite remember the words anymore and Natasha pushed onward, finding him in a small clearing, her cloak hanging on the branch of a nearby tree. </p><p> </p><p>Steve was sitting on a fallen tree, absently scratching something into the mud with a stick as he hummed. The pale sun danced patterns across his honey-coloured hair and Natasha was stricken by something undefinable. She had never seen a man look so peaceful, so kind. It felt as though she wasn’t meant to see this. It was so unfamiliar and foreign to everything she had known. He had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, his eyes focused on whatever he was drawing into the mud, deep in thought. He seemed so gentle, so far away that it gave Natasha pause. Absently, Steve massaged the back of his neck as he sang another verse. It was stranger still to see him sing, to watch the sound leave his lips. The foreign words curled around her, settling over her in a comfort she had never known before. Steve hummed a little before he seemed to remember something and his hand slipped to cover his mouth as he closed his eyes. This was not what she came here to do. She found her voice. </p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” she said, coming into the clearing. </p><p> </p><p>She surprised him. Steve leapt to his feet, his face colouring a bright shade of red. “My lady?” </p><p> </p><p>He seemed out of sorts, flustered. “I’ve been looking for you,” she said. She eyed the markings he had scratched into the earth. It looked to be a map of some kind. </p><p> </p><p>Steve stared. “You… What?” </p><p> </p><p>She smirked and nodded to the cloak hanging on the tree, closing the space between them to casually examine the map. “You’re using my cloak, I see.”</p><p> </p><p>She was close now, in his personal space. She glanced at the drawing, but he stood over it and it was sullied by his boot prints. He must’ve done that on purpose. When he said nothing, Natasha frowned and flicked her gaze back to him. Steve hadn’t taken his eyes from her. He opened his mouth to say something to her but nothing came out and Natasha rolled her eyes. He was being unusually irritating. </p><p> </p><p>“What is wrong with you?” she asked leaning in to meet his bewildered stare, his cheeks blazing red. “Are you hungover? Still drunk?”</p><p> </p><p>“I… What?” </p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t even been listening. Natasha threw her hands up in frustration and turned away. This was turning out to be a pointless waste of time. She had been foolish to talk to him. She should’ve waited to send Yelena after him. She might have better luck dealing with his nonsense than she did. She heard Steve’s footsteps as he fell into step behind her. </p><p> </p><p>“My lady, wait—”</p><p> </p><p>She ignored him, marching back to the village. Steve just fell into step at her side, walking with her in silence. Somehow, that irritated her more than it should have. She stayed the course in frustrated silence, doing her best to suppress whatever this was. He was always disarming her somehow, stripping away her defenses. Despite his temper, his stupid honesty and mystifying ideals, his purpose was still so frustratingly unclear to her. He had told her so much of himself, and yet she still didn’t understand him. What did he mean by coming out here to meet in secret with someone, to so obviously plan something, and look like <em> that </em>? Sound like that? He was something so… she had no word for it other than beautiful. He was beautiful. Natasha clenched her fists tightly. He was a man embroiled in a war, defined by his anger. Why did he have to show her a side of himself that she couldn’t understand? She hated him for it. </p><p> </p><p>Frustrated, Natasha cut to the chase. She whirled on him, eyes narrowed. “I saw you with Storm Bringer today,” she accused. “You seemed like you two had a lot to talk about.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve stared at her, his lips parted in surprise, her cloak tucked under his arm. When he didn’t speak Natasha rolled her eyes and pressed him. “You didn’t tell him about our little outing the other day did you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” he said.  “No.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha seethed. Why wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t Storm Bringer want to know something like that about her? She was losing patience. “Then what did he say to you?” she asked. </p><p>Steve cocked his head and smirked. He continued on without her and she traced the hidden blade beneath her dress as she watched his back.</p><p> </p><p>“How did you find me?”  he asked over his shoulder. “That was quite the trip just to look for me.” </p><p> </p><p><em> Shut up </em> , She willed him as she stalked after him. <em> Shut up, shut up, shut up! </em> “I followed your voice,” she said. He turned to look at her with a frown, not catching her meaning. “You’re a songbird,” she elaborated. “You’ve a pretty voice.” </p><p> </p><p>Now he looked embarrassed. His cheeks were still flushed a rosy hue, his eyes drifting to his feet as he walked. “Hardly,” he said. He didn’t like compliments, it seemed. </p><p> </p><p>They walked on in silence. Why did she always have to work so hard with him? Natasha sighed  heavily and he shot her a glance. “I’m going to be his wife, you know,” she said softly. “I want to know what he’s doing.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s expression hardened. “Then why don’t you ask him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you think he’d tell me?” He was finally losing patience with her. Maybe this was her in. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know Natasha. I'm not an expert.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the only one I can talk to about this.” The truth of that statement struck her. She had been alone until Yelena had arrived. She was used to that, but it was strange to think of him as a confidant. Especially when she was supposed to be mining him for information. </p><p> </p><p>Steve sighed, his expression downcast. “I’m not in the mood to chat.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha frowned, watching him intently. “What’s gotten into you? You’ve never had a problem telling me what was on your mind. In fact, it’s all you ever seem to do. If I didn’t know any better, I would think it was your only pastime.”</p><p> </p><p>His tiny half smile made her frown deepen. There was something strangely melancholy about him that she couldn’t place. </p><p> </p><p>“Not anymore,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>“Steve—” He had been walking them back to the village and she suddenly realized where they were. Natasha frowned. “What did Storm Bringer ask you to do?” she asked. “What does he want with you?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve turned to her with a little smile, his eyes unbearably kind. It made her burn with anger. “Don’t worry about me,” he said.</p><p> </p><p><em> Worried </em> ? Natasha gritted her teeth. She wasn’t worried about <em> him </em> . Hot, black anger squirmed in her chest. Is that what he thought of her? He was wrong. He was <em> wrong </em>. </p><p> </p><p>He looked to the longhouse and the woods beyond, his expression thoughtful. “I’m sure you have better things to do than come looking for me.” </p><p> </p><p>He turned to leave, and Natasha exhaled sharply. After all of that, he was done with her?   </p><p> </p><p>She grabbed his hand, unhappy with the way this was going. She wished she could bend him the way she had Storm Bringer, make him obedient, pliable. Turning to face her, Steve met her gaze, his expression questioning. She wanted to convince him he had misread her, make him tell her everything she wanted to know, but whatever she wanted to say died in her lips. They weren’t tied by marriage, he wasn’t forced to interact with her, or please her, or treat her kindly. They should be nothing to each other. </p><p> </p><p>And yet he looked at her like she wasn’t. </p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t even begin to understand the way he looked at her. Not even a little. Suddenly she felt out of her depth, small, and her breath caught in her throat. Steve stepped closer, his hand squeezing hers in a prompting gesture. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong, Natasha?”</p><p> </p><p>She was frozen, unable to think of anything to say. Instead she found herself squeezing his hand, consumed with unbearable rage. Suddenly they were interrupted when Yelena bumped into Steve and he stumbled forward a step. </p><p> </p><p>“Here are the things you asked for, my lady,” she said.  </p><p> </p><p>Natasha slipped her hand from his, relieved. It shamed her for her sister to see her so pathetically weak, but she could help her now. Yelena appraised Steve, a confused smile on her face, but Natasha could see her calculating. There was a sharpness behind her mask and Natasha stepped back to let her work. Yelena handed Steve a blanket, which he accepted with the same arm he carried her cloak. He frowned in confusion as Yelena piled more items on top. “I didn’t know you had another servant,” she said to Natasha. </p><p> </p><p>Steve immediately bristled as Yelena offloaded her items into his hands. “Were you gifted to her as well?” she asked, meeting Steve’s gaze with an innocent smile. </p><p> </p><p>He glanced at Natasha, his expression like ice. “Gifted?”</p><p> </p><p>Yelena laughed. “I was lord Ross’s property before he gave me to my lady Natasha as an early wedding gift. Which warlord did you belong to?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve immediately let go of everything she had handed to him, letting the items fall in the mud. He shoved the blanket to her chest. “None of them.”</p><p> </p><p>Yelena gave him an irritated smile and Natasha felt compelled to intervene. </p><p> </p><p>“Yelena this is Steve,” Natasha finally offered. “He’s…” She could think of nothing meaningful to say for a moment. “Storm Bringer’s man,” she decided.  </p><p> </p><p>Steve’s angry stare bored a hole in her head and something within her flickered. She didn’t want to be looked at like that. Not by him. Her lips parted in surprise. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh I see,” Yelena said, picking up her dropped items. “I knew you had to be a thrall. Look at you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not a thrall,” Steve said, his voice strained. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena snorted, ignoring him. Her shift in demeanor told Natasha she was moving in to strike. Her mouth went dry and she found herself unable to speak. “Is that why you are so interested in my lady Natasha?” Yelena said. “You are attracted to your betters. You know a master when you see one.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve seethed, his face bright with rage. “<em> Shut up </em>.” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena’s grey eyes flashed with cruelty as she met Steve’s stare. “Oh, now you can order me about because I’m a thrall and you’re not?” She laughed as though amused he could think that way. “How did you come by that freedom, freeman? Are you special because someone paid for your life?” </p><p> </p><p>Steve was wound so tight, Natasha feared he may break. His hands curled into fists, his brow furrowed in anger. But Yelena was toying with him now. She smirked, and Natasha knew that expression. She intended to wound. Without thinking, Natasha moved to stop her, to cut her off, but the words were already out of her mouth before she could. </p><p> </p><p>“Where’s your mother, <em> Runt </em>?” she asked, “What about her freedom?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s heart dropped to hear those words. Her eyes widened, horrified and she turned to Steve. He was speechless, red crept into his cheeks, his brows turned up in shock, devastation. When he levelled his gaze on Natasha, she couldn’t stop the squirming guilt that gripped her. She flushed with shame, unable to speak, unable to fathom the depth of hurt in his expression. Steve just smiled, his rage palpable. He gave a short, bitter little laugh and without a word, he turned and left. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena smirked and leaned in close to speak in Natasha’s ear. “I told you,” she said. “Easy.”  </p><p> </p><p>Natasha had nothing to say, no words for her sister. She had given her everything she had needed to send him away. Steve’s expression, the look of hurt on his face was seared into her heart like a brand. He must hate her now. That was good. She should be grateful. Natasha was breathless as she watched Steve’s retreating back as he disappeared into the village. It was her training that helped her to recover, to hide. She put on a wan little smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Easy,” she agreed. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Is the Red Room a cult? You bet it is! </p><p>Things go sideways this week lol. If you are wondering if I had a song in mind that Steve was singing, I did! It's called "A ghaoil, leig dhachaigh gum mhàthair mi" by Julie Fowlis (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JOu0qORSDK0) </p><p>I'm hoping to get another chapter out sometime next week :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Realization</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natasha didn’t see Steve for the rest of the day. It shouldn’t bother her. She was finally rid of him and his irritating insightfulness. Now she was free to work on her mission without distraction or fear of Steve’s prying eyes. After her confrontation with Steve, Yelena was in good spirits, obviously pleased with herself for helping her sister so effectively. They soon left for the privacy of Natasha’s turf house to debrief. Yelena chattered, made jokes, and later helped Natasha dress for the feast. But Natasha found herself in low spirits. She felt distant, out of sorts in a way she struggled to comprehend. She smiled half heartedly, dressed mechanically, laughed as much as she could, but her sister began to notice her mood. Natasha quickly shook herself. What was the matter with her? She regrouped and threw herself into preparing for the feast instead. </p><p> </p><p>It was late in the evening by the time the feast was ready that night. Natasha arrived only to find Storm Bringer had yet to arrive. She scanned the head table. Strucker and Ross made small talk. Agger wasn’t here at least— likely he was off with the women Ross had promised him. She might not have been able to deal with his lewd comments in her current mood. Two additional empty seats sat waiting. Someone had thought to give her a chair this time, and she quietly joined the two warlords, playing the part of dutiful daughter and hostess until Storm Bringer showed up. It was an hour before he strode in, muttering apologies. He had changed his tunic since their last meeting, though it seemed as though he had hastily thrown this one on. His belt was knotted wrong side out. </p><p> </p><p>“My lord,” she said, standing to greet him. He gave her a hasty smile. By the way he moved, Natasha could tell he still favoured his injured side, though he hid it well. She noted how he seemed to shift his posture in front of the old warlords. They both put on acts, it seemed. It was clear Storm Bringer disliked Ross, he nodded curtly at the grisled warlord as he took his seat next to hers. Distantly, Natasha wondered what they talked about during negotiations. It hardly mattered, she supposed. During the feast, she smiled and laughed and put on a great show. She conversed with Storm Bringer as much as she could manage. He seemed distracted as much as she was. He often didn’t hear what she said, his expression tense. Natasha followed his distracted gaze to Ross, who seemed content to ignore him and pointedly talk with Strucker. Every now and then the old warlord would look up and speak to him, innocuous, banal words that seemed to provoke the Aesir further. </p><p>“Are you enjoying your ale, my lord?” he would ask whenever he noticed the young warlord’s gaze. “Have you tried the stew?”</p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer would smile and turn his attention back to Natasha, who did her best to keep him occupied, but his head wasn’t in it. He had entered the feast in a sour mood and now his growing frustration hung over the table like a brewing storm, putting a damper on the whole longhouse. Natasha did her best, but found she was also out of sorts, ineffective. Their conversation quickly died out and Storm Bringer drank his ale in sullen silence. She was sullen herself, her head miles off. Putting aside this growing unease, Natasha shook herself from her stupor and gently took Storm Bringer’s hand. He glanced at her with a faltering smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Did negotiations not go well today, Thor?” she asked quietly. </p><p> </p><p>He seemed surprised to hear her call him that in the company of others, but she was careful to avoid being overheard. At the sound of his name, his expression clouded. He seemed not to want to discuss what was bothering him. “No,” he said stiffly. “I suppose they did not.” </p><p> </p><p>He looked like he might say something further, and Natasha knew she should press him, but neither of them spoke. There was a weight inside her, a terrible burden that was dragging her down. Instead, she absently sipped her mead. They sat in dejected silence for a while. They ate in silence too, though Natasha found the food tasted ashen in her mouth. She frowned and her eyes turned to the crowded mead hall.  She scanned the faces of the warlord’s men, taking stock of who was here. At least, that’s what she told herself she was doing. She didn’t know what she was looking for otherwise. </p><p> </p><p>When Storm Bringer stood, it startled her from her thoughts. “I think I must retire early,” he announced. “There is much for me to attend to.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s brow furrowed, but she found she had nothing to say. She was ruining this, botching this opportunity to ingratiate herself to him further. She was about to speak, when Ross beat her to it.</p><p> </p><p> “So soon, my lord?” he asked. “I am beginning to see a trend with you. You stormed out of negotiations today and I am told that wasn’t the first time.” </p><p> </p><p>Strucker chimed in, perhaps emboldened by his new friend. He leaned forward to speak to the Aesir. “Do our Midgardian parties bore you?” he asked. </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer smiled tightly. “No, I find I am not in the mood for revelry this evening.”</p><p> </p><p>Ross flicked his gaze to Natasha, his eyes flinty. “Trouble with your woman?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha bristled, doing her best not to flush with embarrassment. The old warlord was putting her in her place, reminding her of her job. His provocations toward Storm Bringer made sense to her now— he was prompting her, giving her opportunities to soothe the young warlord’s anger and she had been so out of sorts that she failed to pick up on the signals. She met his stare with one of her own and Ross smiled.  He seemed to test her, eager to see her in action. Natasha shook herself, putting on a dazzling smile to disguise her irritation. </p><p> </p><p>“Leave him be, my lords,” she chided lightly. She stood and turned to Storm Bringer, sliding her hand into his and ignoring the prickling hum of his skin. He seemed at a loss, his expression grim. His fingers curled over hers weakly.  “I’ll see you out,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>He gave her a halfhearted smile which she ignored as she pulled him toward the door of the longhouse. When they were outside, the wind bit, cold and stiff against her skin. At least it wasn’t snowing tonight. Storm Bringer was visibly relieved to be outside. He seemed eager to leave. Natasha still clutched his hand, studying him intently. Something clearly troubled him— she’d never seen him look so upset. </p><p> </p><p>She pressed him, hoping to coerce him for an answer, or at least salvage some of this evening. “Have I offended you, Thor?” Natasha asked softly. </p><p> </p><p>He surveyed the village for a moment before he sighed. His breath swirled in the flickering torchlight before he collected himself enough to put on a smile for her and squeeze her hand, his grip gentle. “Never,” he assured her. There was a pause, and Natasha couldn’t read him. She was unsure of what he was thinking, what he wanted. It weighed on her to see him like this. She didn’t want him to act coolly toward her; it was bad for the mission. Storm Bringer raised her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. The contact made her shiver, her insides prickling with unease. “I will see you soon.” </p><p> </p><p>He left her then, and Natasha watched his retreating back. She should feel something— anger, disappointment at herself at least. But she could not make herself feel anything at all. Her excitement over discovering his mortality had evaporated, her relief at Yelena’s arrival disappeared. For a moment she wondered if this would be what it felt like to be a true Widow. There was a comforting emptiness within her that she leaned into as she turned from the longhouse and retreated to her little abode instead. </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
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</p><p>Yelena was surprised at her early return. It was still late in the night, though Natasha had anticipated she wouldn’t be back until early morning again. The hearth was lit, the tiny cabin warm with the soft glow of the fire. She had been sharpening her blades, and when Natasha came in, she immediately frowned. </p><p> </p><p>“What happened?” she asked. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha shook her head in frustrated silence as she began to remove the finery Yelena had helped her put on for the feast. “He was in a mood,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Her sister was silent, studying her carefully and Natasha turned away, not wanting to deal with her scrutiny. “You parted on good terms I hope?” Yelena asked as she put her knives back in their holsters. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha sat on her bed, her thumb absently tracing the place he had kissed her. “We did,” she said. A kiss on the hand was better than no kiss at all, she supposed. But she was beginning to notice a pattern of him not initiating intimate contact with her. Natasha sighed heavily. She had a bit more work to do to get him where she wanted him. Yelena stood, her grey eyes sharp, discerning, and Natasha quickly adjusted her posture, slipping on her mask. If Ross could see how distracted she was, her sister would certainly pick up on it as well. “I was off my game.” Natasha said it to convince herself as much as her sister. “I must be tired.”</p><p> </p><p>Yelena was impassive, her expression cool. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence before she spoke again. “It’s been a long day, I imagine,” she said. Natasha was grateful she was giving her an out. </p><p> </p><p>“It has,” she agreed.</p><p> </p><p>Yelena turned away, flipping her knife with practiced hands. “Tomorrow will be better.” Natasha frowned, uncertain of why she was offering assurances. Did she really seem that troubled? “Get some rest, sister.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha didn’t argue with that. They were silent as they each prepared to turn in for the night. Yelena locked the door and window, moving about to put away items and withdraw her bedding. The emptiness in Natasha grew along with the silence. She undressed mechanically, sleeping in her linen shift. They both turned in for the night— Yelena on the floor by the hearth on a bed of animal skin rugs she had stolen and Natasha in her bed. She never slept deeply, they were trained not to, but this was different. She stared at the wall, unable to sleep at all. This would be a good time to plan her next moves, rise above whatever gripped her, but she couldn’t. Her heart hurt. She blinked, unable to fathom why. Her insides felt knotted, twisted and snarled with unwanted emotion. It weighed heavily on her. Natasha curled in on herself, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around her body to make it stop. Breathing deeply, she invited the safety of emptiness into her once more. She wanted peace, she longed for nothingness.  </p><p> </p><p><em> Where’s your mother, Runt? </em> Yelena’s words echoed in her head and she squeezed herself tightly. <em> What about her freedom? </em>Natasha shut her eyes, trying to centre herself, to make herself feel nothing. But in her mind’s eye, she saw the way Steve had looked at her when he realized she had told her sister everything about him. He must’ve assumed she spoke of him with the same disgust and disdain Yelena had afforded him. It made her sick with guilt. It squirmed in her like a living thing, a parasite, making her body behave in unfamiliar ways. Natasha placed her palm over her heart to find that it was racing. That frightened her— her lips parted in shock and she struggled to breathe, to calm herself. </p><p> </p><p>She saw the hurt flash in Steve’s beautiful eyes, the anger. She hugged herself tighter, her face flushed with shame. It shouldn’t matter. She should be grateful. His bitter laugh rang in her ears, she saw his back as he walked away. He didn’t look back at her. Not even once. He didn’t see the shock on her face, that she didn’t mean for it to happen like that. He must hate her. He <em> must </em>. Natasha curled up tightly, her fingers curling into the fabric of her shift, balling it tightly. She should be grateful for that. She should be glad to be rid of him. </p><p> </p><p>She drew a little breath, careful to keep Yelena from hearing. She tried another tactic— she threw her anger at him, her rage. She hated how he had looked at her so kindly, smiled at her. She hated how he had asked her what was wrong, asked her if she was happy. She hated that when he sang she saw what it looked like to be happy. He was at peace with himself. Her anger fizzled and she was left achingly hollow. His laughter was warm silk, rich like honey. Eyes impossibly blue and searching, always searching for something in her she was positive she didn’t have. It might have been a pretense, but he had trusted her, given her intimate parts of himself. That's what she had wanted. She had taken each of these things from him, stolen whatever she could in order to complete her mission. Natasha pictured him walking away. Out of her life for good, if she was lucky. She blinked, staring at the flickering shadows on the wall. Tears burned in her eyes and she froze, a shocked breath escaping from her. What was wrong with her? Natasha gritted her teeth, furious. She picked at the thought like a scab, pulling and prodding until it bled and hurt leaked out, oozing into her heart. She wasn’t meant to feel pity for a mark. She had to be better than this. She should be grateful… grateful. </p><p> </p><p>From behind her, Natasha heard Yelena gasp awake. It startled her, and she tensed, her body coiled and ready to strike. But it was quiet, and she listened hard instead. Natasha heard her sister roll over to face her and she moved over in bed, silently making space for her. It was a while before she heard Yelena stand, hesitating by her bed for a moment. The mattress dipped when Yelena finally slid into bed with her. They lay back to back in mutual silence. They never spoke during moments like this. What was there to say? She had no words of comfort, no soft assurances. It was weakness that brought them together, weakness that kept Natasha silent, that made her offer her presence as a comfort. This was the best she could offer. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena was shaking. Natasha knew it was from a bad dream. It was like they were children again. During their training, her sister used to find her at night when they were still young enough to sleep in groups, still encouraged to bond with the other candidates. Natasha never understood why her grey-eyed sister sought her out. She remembered how her sister used to suck the neckline of her sleep shirt, her eyes brimming with tears. Natasha would move over and Yelena would lie with her. The memory of her sister’s wide eyes, her thin, tiny body shaking from bad dreams was written into her. Sometimes she had to hold her to keep her from whimpering. </p><p> </p><p>They lay in silence for a long time until Natasha felt her sister stop trembling. It did no good to ask her what she had dreamed of. Yelena would never say. It was silent for so long that Natasha was certain her sister had drifted back to sleep and she watched the wall with drooping eyes, even breaths. She was grateful for the reprieve from the awful weight inside her at least. Silently Yelena rolled over to face her back and Natasha paused. </p><p> </p><p>Her sister spoke softly, tentatively. “That man today… Did he mean something to you?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha scoffed. He had been nothing but surly and troublesome since the day she met him. He had made her doubt herself, question herself. She wished she had never met him, never pulled him from the mud. “No,” she whispered. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena’s soft breaths were the only sound between them. “Are you angry with me?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>She sounded like a child. It was hard to tell if it was a manipulation tactic or not. Natasha just shook her head. She was angry with herself. Why couldn’t she put this aside? Why was she fixated on this? “No,” she said. “You did the right thing.” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena curled a little closer, her forehead almost touching Natasha’s back. She watched the shadows cast by the flicker of the dying fire in the hearth. </p><p> </p><p>“I dreamt of you,” her sister whispered. She sounded scared. Natasha had nothing to say to her, she just watched the dancing shadows in silence. “Are you…” Yelena paused briefly. “Are you ever afraid?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha knew she was talking about failing the mission. The price of that was death. Failure to complete an undercover mission meant she would take her own life like they were trained to. She had to die before she gave up her employers or the Red Room. It was the only way to salvage her honour.  </p><p> </p><p>It wouldn’t come to that. It couldn’t. “Sometimes,” Natasha said. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena drew a little breath. “You won’t fail, sister. I know you won’t. You made him bleed, you ran off his spy.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s lips parted, a little pang of hurt, dull and aching shot through her. “I suppose I did.”</p><p> </p><p>“And even if…  you can’t kill him… maybe you’ll fall pregnant. I know the Widows would forgive you if you gave them a candidate fathered by an Aesir.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha knew she meant it as a kindness, that she was trying to think of ways to save her life, but the thought made her ill. It was a high honour— there was no shame in becoming a mother for the Red Room. It happened occasionally, in spite of precautions. Children of Widows were perfect candidates, born without names or ties. Natasha always suspected this was Yelena’s parentage. She had seen a Widow once who looked just like her sister— the same grey eyes, the same flaxen hair. She was visiting from another Red Room in a far off land. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha had spotted her watching Yelena from the windows above the courtyard, expressionless and cold. Yelena’s lesson that day was in shedding her emotion. It had been hours, her face swollen with bruises as she knelt silently on the stone floor. The mistress struck Yelena again and she didn’t move, didn’t flinch or cry out as tears streamed down her cheeks. The Widow was smiling. A cruel, prideful little smirk. It was then that Natasha decided she wanted no children. She’d give the Red Room anything. She was their loyal sister, a true believer. Whatever they asked, she would do, but she’d die before she gave them a child.</p><p> </p><p> “I’ll kill him,” she promised. “I won’t fail.” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena curled against her with a nod. They fell into silence once more. She needed to be stronger than this, better than this. Ignoring the shame, the guilt she felt, Natasha eventually fell into a dreamless sleep. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>In the days following, Natasha endeavored to put her weakness behind her. She carried on as if nothing bothered her. But each night that passed, she felt worse. As she lay alone with her thoughts, she couldn’t stop the flood of emotion, the constant reliving of the hurt she had caused. It started with Steve, the broken look on his face, but it evolved into more. Soon she thought of her other victims, those she had destroyed in the name of the Widows. In the morning she would wake to feel empty, hollow, if she ever slept at all. Each day, she found herself more and more distracted. She had no inclination to find Storm Bringer again, or join him for negotiations. She hardly spoke, barely scraped together a smile. It was ridiculous what she was becoming. In the village she found herself watching crowds again, examining faces. Part of her knew she was looking for Steve, but she buried it, suppressed it. By the fourth day, she had come to accept the obvious— she wasn’t able to let this go. Something in her was sentimental, soft. The tenderness she had fought so hard to destroy had grown. </p><p> </p><p>This was why she should’ve put Steve in his place sooner. He had crept under her skin, wormed his way into her head. She had nothing left to feel except the gnawing well of guilt. It was unacceptable. If she was going to feel anything, let it be a more productive emotion. Natasha worked to turn her shame into anger instead, each sleepless night was Steve’s fault. Each passing glance into the village was his fault, every time she felt grieved, guilty, weak, was his fault. She couldn’t function properly, couldn’t put this aside. She worked herself up, building resentment, anger, hatred until that was all she had left. She hadn’t seen him since Yelena had told him off, but she wanted to find him again. She wanted to finish the job. Perhaps then she could sever this swirl of emotion, this disgusting weakness growing within her. Natasha thought of all the things she might say to him to wound him further, make him suffer. </p><p> </p><p>She began running missions, not telling Yelena the details or what she was doing, but her sister was relieved to see her active again at least. She looked for him— even returning to the woods where she had found him initially, but he was nowhere to be found. She wished she was as talented as he was at disappearing. Today, she headed east, toward the empty rolling fields and pastures. Far in the distance, Strucker kept thralls to tend to orchards and livestock. It was out of the way, open enough for pastures and small herds of sheep and goats to roam. Until now, Natasha had kept away from this area. It didn’t make sense for her character to go there, but she made the trip today. </p><p> </p><p>She left the village behind her early in the morning. The frigid air bit at her cheeks, the tip of her nose. But she gathered her cloak more tightly around her. She was determined, angry. Her eyes were fixed on the distant pasture carved into the rolling hillside. It was a swath of patchy green emerging from dormant yellow as spring set in. Mist clung to the ground like a blanket, gently swirling in the bright light of the morning sun. She marched past the lonely cluster of turf houses, the empty enclosure meant to house livestock and headed for the distant puffs of fluffy white sheep roaming the pasture. </p><p> </p><p>It was there that she found him, among the herd. She almost didn’t see him at first. Steve sat on the hillside, his expression vacant. His tunic sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the front unlaced and opened. His hair was unbound, as if it had come loose and he hadn’t bothered to fix it. One of the sheep in the herd butted against him, chewing at his sleeve, but Steve didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the horizon. His expression told her that in the days she had been wrestling with her guilt, he had been stewing in something else entirely. He was more than angry. He was livid. Justifiably so. It was in his eyes, plain as day. Natasha froze, her resolve wavering. Perhaps this was a mistake. But a sheep bleated at her and she jumped. When she looked back at Steve, he turned his stare on her and she bristled. </p><p> </p><p>Now was her opportunity to set this right. To end this connection. But she felt pinned by his stare, her tongue like lead in her mouth. </p><p> </p><p>He broke the silence for her. “What are you doing here?” His tone was bitter, frosty. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha squared her shoulders. “I was looking for you,” she said.</p><p> </p><p>Steve seemed surprised to hear that. “Well you’ve found me,” he said. The sheep butted against him and he turned his attention to it instead. He stood and followed the sheep as it wandered away. “As you can see, I’m very busy and I imagine you are, too.” </p><p> </p><p>He walked away from her, following along the hoof marks cut into the mud. Natasha frowned, storming after him. The words were out of her mouth before she could think. “I’m sorry.” Her guilt lifted a little and she exhaled in surprise. Steve clenched his jaw; the muscle in his face jumped. </p><p> </p><p>He looked away, moving to follow the herd. “What do you want to hear? You’re forgiven?” She wasn’t sure what she was even doing out here anymore. She thought she knew, but she was faltering again. Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat and Steve stared at her expectantly. When she didn’t speak, he smiled, his expression unkind. “Then you’re forgiven.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha frowned. Her heart pounded in her ears. This was far from what she intended. But she found herself saying, “Please, I didn’t mean for it to…”</p><p> </p><p>He whirled on her and she flinched. “Then what did you mean to happen, Natasha?” He looked hurt, his gaze flickering as he watched her before he couldn’t anymore and he watched the ground instead. “Runt— where did you learn that? How did you know to call me that?” Natasha didn’t know how to answer. One of his comrades had said it and she only repeated that information, but his reaction suggested it went deeper than that, and her heart fell. Steve spoke quietly, his voice strained. “For the first sixteen years of my life, my lord never once called me by name. When I was a child, I believed that was what I was called— Runt. Bastardson.” Natasha watched her feet in shame. She had hurt him far deeper than she could’ve known. He was silent for a while before he added softly, “Steve was the name my mother gave me.” </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know,” she said quietly. </p><p> </p><p>He scoffed, a tight smile on his face. “Aye, you didn’t know. How could you have known?” He shook his head in anger, disgusted with himself. “I should never have told you about myself. I shouldn’t have trusted you. You’re careless, Natasha. You have no regard for anyone but yourself.” </p><p> </p><p>Heat blazed into her cheeks. He was right about that. She would do anything to survive— that was the way of the Widows, that was her lot in life. But she didn’t want him to say it. She didn’t want him to <em> see </em> it. It was childish, shifting the blame elsewhere, but she hated that he was angry with her.  “I told her— Yelena, because I thought she was a friend.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve snorted and she bristled. “I had a friend like you once,” he said. “My lord’s son, James. He was kind when his father wasn’t watching. Used to promise to free my mother and me when he took over his father’s estate. Sometimes I wondered if he liked being able to say that. Did it make him feel good to think of himself as better than his father? Did it please him to believe he was kind to his things?” He faltered, his cheeks colouring red as he appraised her. “Why don’t you tell your friend that? You can speak behind my back, laugh at me, call me whatever amuses you.” </p><p> </p><p>“Steve—” </p><p> </p><p>He was too angry to hear her, too angry to want to. “Maybe you did us both a favour,” he said. “I made the mistake of thinking I mattered more than I do. I have a purpose, a use and I got to thinking I meant more than that.” He smiled and it didn’t reach his eyes. “Go back home, Natasha. You don’t need to associate with the likes of me.” </p><p> </p><p>He turned away from her and something about that broke her. It had a sense of finality, and air of an ending. She had seen his back too many times in her mind, saw him walk away from her, abandon her like she was nothing. And she was— truly, she was. But she reached out before she could stop herself, stepping close to take hold of his tunic. Steve went rigid, turning to face her, eyes bright with rage and she made herself let go and take a step back. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t manipulate me like this,” he said quietly. Natasha flushed, heat rising in her face. “I’ve seen how you treat your things. You don’t get to do that to me.”</p><p> </p><p>She blanched. Of course he would see it like that. Of course he would see her actions as twisted, insidious. She swallowed hard. “You’re not a thing, Steve,” she said softly.  </p><p> </p><p>“Then what am I?!” his voice echoed across the misty hillside, his blue eyes bright with rage. “I’m nothing! I know I’m nothing! I’m only as good as the work I can do for this cause.” His words settled over her like a weight. People were tools, pieces in a game set up by powerful players, but she didn’t want to hear a man like Steve say it. He set his jaw, ruminating with a pained look. He drew in a quick breath, trying to control his anger. “Once this wedding happens, I go back to being nothing again. I know my use. So leave me be. I don’t need to be reminded—”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha was shaking. She didn’t know what she was doing when she pulled him into her arms, but she held him tightly even as he froze. She wanted him to stop. She never wanted him to feel like this. It hurt that she had brought him so low. Her arms snaked around his waist, her forehead buried into his shoulder. He smelled like the pasture, like sweet grass and sheep. Steve inhaled sharply, his face turned into her hair as if he would speak, but was so angry that he had no words. She could feel how hard his heart beat, the rise and fall of his chest, how warm he was, how stiff and unyielding. It made her hold him tighter. His breathing became ragged and slowly his hand came up to grip her cloak, balling the fabric into a tight fist. “Please,” he whispered. She’d never heard him sound so small. “Don’t do this to me.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha gripped him. He was right. Even now she was manipulating, using her body to try to control him. Maybe that wasn’t her intent, but that was all she knew how to do. She let him go. Even when she was trying to help, trying to make things right, she ruined them. She was a weapon, a sharp tool only capable of wounding others. There was nothing she could do to make this right. She wasn’t capable of that. Not when she tainted everything she touched. It felt as though her world was spinning out of control, that her life was collapsing around her. Natasha sank to her knees on the muddy ground, her head bowed, her arms hugging her body in an attempt to stop this grief. She wasn’t meant to feel like this. She wasn’t meant to feel anything at all. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to suppress this awful swell of emotion. She could feel Steve pause and she feared he might leave her. It was what she deserved. But she couldn’t stand the thought of him believing he was worthless, that he believed she thought of him as a toy and nothing more. So she tried again. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For everything. I shouldn’t have told Yelena about you. Not those things. I knew better, I knew how she might use them and I told her anyway.”</p><p>None of this should matter. He was her enemy, and she’d do far worse to his life than remind him of what he once was in the coming weeks, but she couldn’t stand the notion of him thinking she used him. Of him thinking she thought he was a<em> thing </em>. Maybe it was true when she first met him, but it wasn’t how she felt now. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. Steve was silent for a moment and Natasha watched the ground in silence. In the distance birds sang, sheep bleated, life moved on around her. She half expected Steve to leave, but she lifted her head a little when he crouched to her level. She couldn’t make herself look at him— maybe she was too afraid to. Very hesitantly, he tilted her chin up, his fingers gently nudging her to look at him. She met his gaze. His expression was still laced with hurt, but there was a kindness in his eyes. He gave her a faltering smile and Natasha felt the air leave her body in a sudden rush. The sight filled her with a strange warmth. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ll ruin your dress, my lady,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha blinked, her lips parting in surprise. She could feel heat creeping into her face, but she was unable to look away from him. Steve cocked his head a little as he watched her. “Don’t kneel in the muck,” he said. He spoke so kindly, so warmly. She didn’t deserve it. “Don’t kneel for anyone, Natasha.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve slid his hand under her arm and tugged her to sit next to him on the grassy hillside. Entranced, Natasha allowed him to move her, hugging her arms across her body to stop this spreading warmth. She sat pressed against him, her body flush with his. They sat in silence for a long time, Steve absently rubbing his palms as he watched the ground thoughtfully. </p><p> </p><p>She didn’t know what possessed her to speak, but she felt compelled to say, “You’re not nothing, Steve.” She swallowed hard, embarrassed. Steve looked at her, eyes searching and the warmth within her grew. She squeezed her sides, fingers digging into her ribs. “You’re a troublesome man.”  </p><p> </p><p>He snorted softly, his lips pulling into a crooked half-smile and a tiny smile graced her lips in return. “I’m still angry with you,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re always angry,” Natasha said. </p><p> </p><p>His soft chuckle was a relief she didn’t know she needed. It soothed her battered heart. “Not always,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha deflected, teasing. “Name a time you weren’t.” </p><p> </p><p>But Steve didn’t answer and she looked at him expectantly. He watched the swirling mist, crisp and saturated gold with the rich morning sun. His eyes were so blue they put the sky to shame. She watched him smile, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm. Her breath caught in her throat. </p><p> </p><p>With terrible, devastating clarity, Natasha realized that she cared about him. He meant more to her than she was prepared to admit. The realization knocked the wind from her. She went cold. Numbly she sat with him on the hillside, horrified.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So everyone has a lot of feelings this chapter :)</p><p>I'm hoping for an update next week! I'm trying to get fired up for the next parts but it's so freaking hot here right now lol. I write about winter when it's summer because wishful thinking I guess.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Proposal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natasha was in shock. It felt like a betrayal to everything she had worked so hard for. She couldn’t <em> like </em>him. It was inconceivable. Quickly, she recovered and abruptly stood to brush the mud from her dress. She couldn’t allow this setback to sidetrack her from her fate. She was becoming a Widow; this ridiculous attachment to Steve demonstrated how weak she was. It was just another obstacle she would have to overcome. </p><p> </p><p>“I should get back,” she muttered. “Nobody knows I’m here.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve moved to get up, a tiny frown on his face. “I’ll walk you,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>“No!” she said much too loudly. She spooked a sheep grazing nearby and it trotted away. Steve stared, his brow furrowed and Natasha grimaced and amended, “No, don’t trouble yourself.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve shrugged and gave her a fleeting smile. There was still some awkwardness between them, a strange closeness that made Natasha nervous. She no longer knew how to define this thing between them.  “It’s no trouble,” he said as he got to his feet and dusted his hands off. “I’m going back anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>Annoyance flashed through her and she stared at him. He was good to her— better than she deserved. It ate her up. It was bad enough that she had made the awful discovery that she was soft for him, but now he seemed to throw it in her face. </p><p> </p><p>“I can manage on my own,” she said through gritted teeth. Something about this was humiliating beyond words. She hated that she felt anything for him at all. “I said what I came to say, I don’t need you to escort me.” </p><p> </p><p>“Escort—” He frowned. “Why are you upset?”  </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not!” His eyebrows raised incredulously and she broke. “I don’t know what you want from me! Are you here to spy? To report back about me?”</p><p> </p><p>He nearly laughed at the notion. “Not everything is transactional, Natasha,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“Then— I don’t understand. What am I to you?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve tilted his head to the side. He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “My friend.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha stared at him in disbelief. Was he serious? She searched for the lie in his words, the hidden meaning she was sure she was missing. Steve just smiled and shook his head, his laughter kind and inviting. “I swear I’ll never understand you, Natasha.”</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, she didn’t know what to say to him anymore. None of this made sense—  he was a spy, wasn’t he? How could he call her his friend? Natasha crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly. It was laughable. But she felt his words deep in her heart, resonating so strongly, pulling at her. She had nothing to say in response, no words to snip at him, or keep him from seeing into her heart. She had no barriers left. She didn’t need a <em> friend </em>. She didn’t need anyone. But this strange feeling in her, this warmth made her want it. </p><p>
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</p><p>Steve turned and left, leaving her on the hillside. She was always watching his back, it seemed. He stretched and reached behind his head to gather his hair into a low knot to keep it from his face. Natasha sighed, trailing after him, her heart thundering in her chest. This could be salvaged. She didn’t have to let this spin out of her control. He had offered her friendship, so that’s what she would be. She glanced at his back again, squeezing herself tighter. This was strange, out of her comfort. She’d never had a friend before. All her interactions came with caveats and had a sexual tension that she wasn’t sure she knew how to stop. It was what she was trained for. She was meant to entice her prey, disarm them with her charms, her looks. She froze. What did friends do? </p><p> </p><p>When Steve suddenly sang she nearly jumped out of her skin. It was loud, piercing the quiet morning air with a high melancholy sound. The song was strange and nothing like what he had sung when she overheard him the first time. His voice carried across the hillside, the echo reverberating back in a faded duet before it was swallowed by the distant trees. The sheep perked up, watching him and Natasha realized he was singing for <em> them</em>. He called again— a haunting, ethereal melody.  It gave her chills. She heard the quiet jingle of answering bells as the sheep slowly trotted towards them to follow them back. Steve drew a breath to call again, but Natasha interrupted. “What are you doing?” she asked. </p><p> </p><p>Her question felt like an intrusion, but it was out of her mouth before she could think. How childish. The sooner she could return, the better. Steve glanced at her, and her expression made him chuckle.</p><p> </p><p>“Calling them in,” he said. “I don’t want them wandering out too far if I’m not here.” He nodded at the turf house and enclosure in the field below. “The family that lives there watches them, but their youngest can’t herd them from afar yet. They’re her sheep to look after, so I don’t let them far when her voice isn’t loud enough to call them back.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha felt the strange warmth returning and she pinched herself in admonishment. He glanced over his shoulder, seemed to do a quick tally and then paused to sing the sheep closer. His voice curled around her, spellbinding, entrancing. The call was so strangely mournful, she wondered what it was about. She watched him, unable to define what this was. The sunlight caught his hair, his eyelashes, casting him in golden light. She quickly looked away and spotted a straying sheep coming down from the woods at the top of the hill. “There you are,” he murmured. She could hear the mirth in his voice, the sweetness. It started her heart pounding anew. Satisfied, Steve turned back and headed for the turf house again.</p><p> </p><p>They walked in silence for a while until they approached the turf house and enclosure. Maybe friendship was a bit like spycraft. An interrogative back and forth, but without the violence or coercion. She tried her hand at it. </p><p>“Is this where you go?” she asked. “When you aren’t in the village, I mean.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve smirked. “Do you often look for me?” It was a deflection. His expression was a little taut as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her. Natasha didn’t blame him after she had broken his trust. He was still angry with her, after all. </p><p> </p><p>She turned her gaze to her feet. She’d meant it innocently, but her question seemed to be another probe for information. This was harder than she’d anticipated. He didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to, she reminded herself. She was certain a friend wouldn’t coerce him or press the issue. “I didn’t mean— I shouldn’t pry. You don’t have to tell me,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Steve was thoughtful for a moment, his gaze fixed on the returning sheep before he looked away. “I used to shepherd,” Steve said. “It’s normally women’s work. I think my lord was trying to humiliate me when he had me do it. But I liked it. It was the only thing I liked. Except maybe hunting with James.” He scratched his face. “I suppose I missed it, in a way. I came out here because it’s familiar. I can be of use here.” Natasha watched the path in front of them in silence and he elaborated, “And… I understand sheep. It’s people I have trouble with.” </p><p> </p><p>Something about that sentiment was so quintessentially him. She smiled warmly at him, her insides aglow with something indescribable. It felt a little like when she talked with her sister, but without the fear of thinking she’d be asked to turn on her or vice versa. </p><p>
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</p><p>“Steve!”  The small voice snapped her from her thoughts and they both turned to see a girl running toward them. She was young, barely a woman. Her fine blonde hair was neatly kept in a long braid that swayed back and forth as she ran. She must be one of the family that lived here. “I thought I heard you calling the sheep in,” she said. “When did you—” When she saw he was not alone, she was crestfallen, her smile dying on her face. Immediately she became shy and reserved, eyeing Natasha suspiciously. </p><p> </p><p>“Sharon,” Steve smiled. When the girl looked between the two of them, he said, “This is Natasha.” </p><p> </p><p>Sharon smiled weakly, moving closer to him. Clearly she wanted to touch him— maybe she was accustomed to doing so when it was just the two of them, but she held back under Natasha’s impassive gaze. Her body language was clear, she was smitten with him. Natasha looked away to hide her smirk. “I thought you were teaching me more about herding today,” Sharon said quietly.  </p><p> </p><p>“Aye of course,” he said. “I’m just seeing Natasha back to the village.”  </p><p> </p><p>She frowned, clearly unhappy to hear that. “I was hoping you’d have breakfast with us.” Sharon shot another glance at Natasha before she quickly added, “And— mother needed you, too.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve rubbed his face with a little sigh. “Is it about your father?” </p><p> </p><p>Sharon nodded and Steve’s expression became a little more serious. “I’ll be by later,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Sharon looked disappointed. “Come back soon,” she said. It didn’t escape Natasha how dejected she sounded. </p><p> </p><p>Steve just gave her a little nod and turned to walk with Natasha again in thoughtful silence. When they were far enough away he quietly said, “Her father’s missing. He was summoned to Strucker’s longhouse last week, but he hasn’t returned.” He glanced at her, a frown on his face. He seemed to assess if he should share this with her. Steve sighed, clearly troubled. “He may not be the only thrall missing, either. There’s something… wrong.” He shook himself a little, putting on a smile. “But pay that no mind. You have enough on your plate without me roping you into these affairs.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha bit her lip. Something about this had him worried. “Is that why you’re out here?" she asked. "Not just because you wanted the familiarity, but to help them?” </p><p> </p><p>He nodded and they fell into a brooding silence once more. To him, she was a noble woman, his friend— he didn’t want to trouble her with matters that she couldn’t help with. This was the first she was hearing of this, and if it troubled Steve, then it surely troubled Storm Bringer as well. It felt as though she danced on the edge of a larger conspiracy and she couldn’t stand to be on the outside of this. She would be looking into this independently. For now, she sighed and wracked her brain for what a friend might do now. </p><p> </p><p>“Well I’m sure they appreciate your help,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Steve nodded. “Aye, they’re a kind family. They’ve been good to me.” </p><p> </p><p>“And that girl— Sharon— she seemed nice.” </p><p> </p><p>He narrowed his eyes, unsure of where she was going with this. “She’s a good girl,” he said warily. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha nodded, a smirk on her face. “A fine girl,” she agreed. “Though I think you broke her heart, Steve,” she teased. </p><p> </p><p>His suspicion quickly turned to utter confusion. Flummoxed, he opened his mouth in protest, but whatever he was going to say came out as a simple, dumbfounded, “What?” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh come now— she’s clearly in love with you.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve turned a bright red. “No,” he said with certainty. “No. Absolutely not.” He paused for a moment, thinking hard. When he spoke again it was soft, shy, almost childlike. “Really?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha chuckled and mimicked the young girl, clasping her hands together and fluttering her eyes. “Oh, teach me to herd, Steve. Have breakfast with us, Steve. Come back soon, Steve.” </p><p> </p><p>She didn’t think it was possible, but he turned an even brighter red. She nearly smiled. This felt safe— this didn’t feel like anything more dangerous. She wasn’t leading him on or enticing him. This was superficial, surface level, and it felt… nice, she decided. Steve dragged his hand down his cheek. </p><p> </p><p>“By all the gods— she asked me if I was married the other day.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha did smile then. He never spoke of these matters before and she never thought to ask.  “Are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“No—” he frowned, his expression miserable as he recalled Sharon’s words in a new light. “Shit. Then she asked if I thought she was beautiful.” </p><p> </p><p>“And you told her…” </p><p> </p><p>Steve buried his face into his hands. “I told her she probably would be when she was older.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha was outraged on the young girl’s behalf. “<em>Probably?</em>” She smacked him on the arm. <em> “</em>When she’s <em> older</em>? Steve!” </p><p> </p><p>He recoiled, rubbing his arm defensively. “Well I don’t know what she’ll look like! She might be!”</p><p> </p><p>She shook her head, exasperated. “No wonder you get along better with sheep! You’re a beast, a hellion! How many hearts have you broken with your obliviousness?” </p><p> </p><p>He scratched his cheek, his brows knit with concern. “I think that’s overstating things. It’s not like I’m much of a catch…” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha narrowed her eyes, her tone deadly serious. “Of the women you’ve known, how many of them spent time with you seemingly for no reason?” </p><p> </p><p>He was resolute again, straightening to stand his full one inch above her. “They were just friendly—” </p><p> </p><p>“How many asked you about marriage?” </p><p> </p><p>Steve faltered, his surety instantly gone. “They were being inquisitive?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha folded her arms, her eyebrow arched incredulously. “Mhm, and how many of them flirted?” </p><p> </p><p>He frowned. “None, I imagine.” </p><p> </p><p>As if he would know. Natasha rolled her eyes and stopped him with a light touch on the arm. When he looked at her, she bashfully tucked her hair behind her ear as she shyly looked away. His lips parted, his brow furrowed in confusion. “That’s—”</p><p> </p><p>She laughed, high and light. “Oh Steve,” she said breezily, she reached out and playfully tapped his arm, tracing along his collarbone before settling his chest. He froze, his gaze flicking to her hand. “You’re so <em> funny</em>.”  </p><p> </p><p>His eyes widened in horror. “Oh.” He looked panic stricken as he mentally surveyed all the interactions he had had with women until now. “Oh— shit.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s lips quirked into a little smile and she felt the beat of his heart where her hand still lingered for a moment too long on his chest. She quickly withdrew. “‘Oh shit,’ indeed.” </p><p> </p><p>They walked on in silence, Steve’s expression withering as he cringed to remember how many women he had unintentionally spurned. “I’m such an idiot.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha shrugged. “I suppose it’s part of your charm.” He looked at her inquisitively, his cheeks still tinted pink, and she regretted her words. She was taking things a little too far, her actions tainted with flirtatiousness that she wasn’t sure she could switch off, and now that she had pointed it out, he would be looking for it. She needed to tread carefully. She wasn’t smitten, or flirting, or luring him— he wasn’t her mission. Steve was her friend, she reminded herself. It was far easier to talk about him, to keep their conversation light. “Have you no plans to settle?” she asked. “Especially now that you know what to look for?” </p><p> </p><p>Steve frowned, clearly flustered. “That’s not… I hadn’t…” She enjoyed teasing him. It made him turn such a lovely shade of red.</p><p> </p><p>“You could have your pick now,” she said. “Have any number of girls to choose as your wife, or even mistresses if you can’t decide.” Steve’s eyebrows shot to his hairline and Natasha nudged him. Part of her enjoyed making him squirm. “Perhaps you’ll have a herd of your own with as many women and children as you have sheep and you could sing them all in from the fields at the end of the day.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve burst out laughing at the idea. He elbowed her and she couldn’t help her smile. It came naturally, from a place within her she didn’t know she had. “Stop it,” he said. “No more of your mischief.” </p><p> </p><p>If this was what it meant to have a friend, then perhaps it wasn’t so bad. It felt strange to consider, but it was as if she was relearning something that she had forgotten— an old habit trained out of her in the Red Room. The thought sobered her a little. She was only playing a part. As real as this felt, as nice as this was, she was talking to a dead man. If Steve stayed until after she killed Storm Bringer, he wouldn’t be making it out of this alive— the old warlords would make sure of that. The unpleasant familiar sting of grief shot through her. He’d never smile at her like this if he knew what she was really here for. Truly, she wasn’t his friend, this wasn’t kindness on her part. </p><p> </p><p>She shook herself a little. It hurt to consider the end, the reality of this. Maybe it was better to get this out, to understand these feelings now in order to resist them later. It was childish, but she found herself saying, “You could leave this place, Steve. You don’t have to stay for the wedding. You could leave and have your own life beyond this. A simple life. It seemed… nice out there. Peaceful.” </p><p> </p><p>It was an effort to ease her conscience— she was trying to save him. She didn’t really want him to die. She imagined never hearing his laugh again, never seeing his smile. Things would be quieter, darker without him. It would comfort her to know he was alive somewhere in the world. Steve was quiet for a moment, carefully considering her words. “It’s what my mother wanted for me when she freed me,” he said. “Peace.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha looked at him, swallowing the lump building in her throat. There were moments when it seemed like he was at peace, fleeting as they were, but his expression now was tense, angry. His eyes were hard. He hadn’t found peace, and something told her he wasn’t looking for it. He could have any life he chose, but he chose this. He couldn’t change her fate and she couldn’t change his. There were on parallel paths, their destinies inevitable, inescapable. She walked the true path, and that made him her enemy. He would be crushed under the heel of people like her, a victim of this never ending race for power and she had the gall to pretend she was his friend. Kindness was cruelty. She was beginning to understand that now. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha had nothing else to say and they walked on in silence. It wasn’t long before the village was in sight and she breathed a small sigh of relief. If nothing else, she had alleviated her guilt, defined her relationship with Steve. She could focus now on building walls, fortifying her heart, protecting herself from weakness. She could focus on her mission now. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for walking with me,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Steve nodded, his expression impassive. “Of course, my lady.” </p><p> </p><p>Part of her wanted to stay, to return to the warmth of camaraderie, of teasing and banter. But that was foolish. Instead, she made herself smile. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, she knew. Steve saw it too. He always saw it. It troubled him— she saw the flash of concern, the way his brow furrowed slightly. There was a crease between his eyes when he worried that she hadn’t noticed before. It stood out to her now. Steve looked to the field behind her, choosing not to mention anything this time. “I should get back,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha was a little more genuine this time. “Right.” Her tone was just shy of teasing and he instantly knew her meaning. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t start—” </p><p> </p><p>“Wouldn’t want to keep Sharon waiting.” </p><p> </p><p>He grinned and massaged his forehead. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha snorted. “Not while I’m around,” she said. “Someone has to keep your ego in check.” </p><p> </p><p>His smile made her heart ache. “Take care, Natasha.”  </p><p> </p><p>He turned and left and Natasha watched him go for a moment too long before she silently returned to her turf house.</p><p> </p><p>She unlatched the door to find Yelena laying out her things. She looked up when Natasha entered, and frowned to see her muddied dress.</p><p> </p><p>“Where were you?” she asked. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha shrugged and took off her cloak. “Tying up some loose ends,” she said. Well, that was her intention when she left this morning anyway. Instead, she had discovered a fatal flaw in her defenses. She held back a sigh. If she couldn’t bring herself to cut him from her, make him hate her, then she would settle for avoiding him. Even though she could be his friend, it might be better to let herself grow cold, to shut herself off from all of this naturally and let this connection wither and die. She needed time alone to get her head right. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m glad to hear it,” Yelena said, handing her a slice of bread and some berries. Natasha’s brow furrowed slightly. “Breakfast,” she prompted as she flopped back on the bed. “I’ve been busy myself this morning.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha smiled a little, nibbling on her bread. “What did you do, sister?”</p><p> </p><p>“Eavesdropped, mostly,” Yelena said as she played with the end of her braid, a bored expression on her face. “It’s amazing what people will say in front of thralls. I heard some interesting information about Strucker and his real daughter.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha sat on the end of the bed. “Anything worth sharing?” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena propped herself up to look at her, a small smile on her face. She looked wicked, smug. “He offered her up as a bride. She was meant to be a peaceweaver between Strucker and Zemo, but Zemo broke the agreement and took her hostage after the wedding.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha couldn’t say she was surprised. The old warlords were without honour, clearly. “What did Strucker do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing,” Yelena said. “He couldn’t be persuaded to save her. I heard they sent him her finger with her wedding ring still on, and then her hand, then the rest of her arm…” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha snorted softly and took note of the information for later. She knew he had other children, all gone now. They must’ve died in a similar manner, sacrificed on the altar of his pride. “Shame.” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena sighed dramatically. “Yes, woe to the poor warlord’s daughter.” She sat up and nudged Natasha with her foot. “She was weak and he offered her up because he knew it. Can you imagine being so useless?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha frowned. “No.”</p><p> </p><p>Yelena seemed to sense she wasn’t in the mood for this and her smile faded. “Did something happen, sister?” she asked. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha met her gaze, expression carefully neutral. There was so much she wanted to tell Yelena, so much she wished she could share. But she was vulnerable, tender still and didn’t know how to talk about it. Yelena watched her expectantly, grey eyes searching her with a blank expression that mirrored her own. Natasha looked away. She couldn’t trust her with her heart. She wasn’t sure she could trust herself right now, either. Her soft underbelly was beginning to show and that was dangerous. It would be safer for them both to keep her feelings to herself, to repress instead of unpack them. So that’s what she did. She turned her focus on matters she could control. </p><p> </p><p>“Can you look into something for me?” she asked.  </p><p> </p><p>Yelena met her eyes, her expression impassive. “Whatever you need.” </p><p> </p><p>“Missing thralls,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena frowned. “Missing from where?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha paused, recalling the troubled look on Steve's face. “Field workers, farmers, but it might be more.” </p><p> </p><p>Her sister nodded. “I’ll see what I can discover.” </p><p> </p><hr/><p>After her encounter with Steve, Natasha threw herself more actively into her mission. The twist was not lost on her— before she had done nothing but search for Steve, and now she actively avoided him. When she spotted him in the village, she would quickly turn the other way. Instead, she opted to stay focused on her mission and not give him any more opportunities to know her. They had a relationship she could define and manage now, and she intended to keep it cordial and distant in preparation for the next phase of her mission. She had yet to set the wedding date and hadn’t made up with Storm Bringer after the disaster at the feast nearly a week ago. </p><p> </p><p>But Natasha was determined to set this right. Yelena helped her dress, putting her in finery that would make anyone envious. Her sister adjusted a string of beads around her neck, her eyes focused on the sparkling green she had chosen to match Natasha’s eyes. “I’m looking into the information you requested,” she said, “so I hope you won’t need me today.” </p><p> </p><p>“I won’t,” Natasha assured her. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena nodded, her expression carefully neutral. “I’ll report back with what I find.” She briefly squeezed Natasha’s arm. “I know you don’t need luck, sister,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena left first, heading to Strucker’s longhouse and Natasha waited a moment before she left for Storm Bringer’s abode. She had to correct the course of this mission. Now that she wasn’t burdened by whatever spell had gripped her days ago, she was determined to grow closer to Storm Bringer, rather than spending time with Steve. </p><p> </p><p>She carefully picked her way across the hillside, heading for the manor house he stayed in. It was crowded today— he had company, a mix of his warriors and Ross’s men milled outside, drinking and laughing. It was irritating; she didn’t want prying eyes. Storm Bringer soon emerged, clapping one of his men on the back and making him spill his ale. He laughed heartily, they all did, and Natasha smiled shyly. She caught him just as he was leaving. He turned, and seemed surprised to see her. </p><p> </p><p>“Natasha,” he said as he approached. “How fortuitous, I was just coming to call on you.” </p><p> </p><p>He seemed in a much better mood today than when she had last seen him and she smiled. “It must be fate,” she said, reaching out to take his hand. She jumped at the contact, her smile slipping momentarily as his energy shot up her arm. She’d nearly forgotten what it felt like. “I was coming to ask after you,” she recovered. </p><p> </p><p>He beamed at her and she smiled in return. Behind him, Storm Bringer’s men whistled and he smirked. Natasha feigned embarrassment, hiding her face in her other hand. “Can I persuade you to take a walk with me?” he asked gently. “There was something I wished to discuss with you that needs no audience.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’d like that,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer tucked her arm in his and led her past the village to the cliffs overlooking the distant beaches below. It was suitably private, though he had learned his lesson with the fjords and kept her away from the edge. </p><p> </p><p>It prompted her to ask, “Are you still injured, my lord?” </p><p> </p><p>He shook his head, patting his side. “A shallow wound like that is healed within a day or two,” he said. “We Aesir are made stronger than Midgardians. Think nothing of it, my Natasha.” </p><p> </p><p>She smiled at him and he squeezed her hand before he cleared his throat. “Let us sit,” he said, “I would not have you stand about on my account.” He unfastened his cloak and, with a flourish that made her laugh, spread it on the grass for them to sit on. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha sat down, then leaned back to look at the blue of the sky above them. It was nearly cloudless today. Birds circled lazily overhead. Storm Bringer lay next to her and she took the opportunity to turn on her side, to watch him. They lay face to face, Natasha taking a moment to study him. </p><p> </p><p>“I wanted to apologize, my lady,” he said quietly.  “I let the unpleasantness of negotiations sour my mood when last we met.”</p><p> </p><p>“You did,” she said, reaching out to finger the embroidered neckline of his tunic. “I thought you were upset with me.” </p><p> </p><p>“Never,” he said softly. </p><p> </p><p>She flicked her gaze to his, watching him through her lashes. “Would you tell me if you were?” she asked.  </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer laughed, a pleasant, warm sound. It made her shiver.  “I find I am not able to disguise my feelings well,” he said. “Not when my anger calls storms.” </p><p> </p><p>She smiled. “I suppose that <em> is </em> a rather obvious tell.” </p><p> </p><p>He paused, going silent for a moment. His inhuman eyes were focused on her hand and she smiled and bridged their fingers together, studying how much bigger his palm was compared to hers. Storm Bringer’s lips parted as he watched her toy with his fingers. </p><p> </p><p>“I know this is not ideal,” he said, “and our meeting might not have been what you wanted, nor expected. But it occurred to me that I had not… I wanted to ask…” he paused as though he was nervous, his hand dwarfing hers as he squeezed it gently. Natasha frowned, unsure of what had him acting like this. He licked his lips, his breath shaky. He <em> was </em> nervous. She shot him a glance and he swallowed. “I wanted to ask if you would consent to be my wife.” </p><p> </p><p>Oh. Natasha stared at him in surprise. <em> Oh</em>. He was proposing to her. </p><p> </p><p>She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t expected anything from him. When she first arrived, she had thought he would simply go through with the union, not actually <em> ask </em> her to be his wife. Her consent didn’t matter— this was supposed to be a political union. She felt that fragility within her, an unbearable bruise on her heart. She couldn’t handle this kindness, this sweetness. First with Steve, and now with him. It occurred to her that she hadn’t said anything and she looked up to find Storm Bringer becoming increasingly nervous. “Yes,” she said. “Thor, of course.” </p><p> </p><p>His relief was clear, a hesitant smile pulled at his lips. “Then…” He slipped his hand from hers briefly to reach into his pocket and withdraw a small, delicate bracelet. “To make the union official.” </p><p> </p><p>She stared at the small bracelet. It was unlike any metal she had seen before and she wasn’t sure it came from Midgard. It looked like silver, but it shimmered strangely when he touched it, seeming to take on his cosmic power. It was thin and carefully beaten into a braided pattern, a never ending knot. He seemed pleased to see her so surprised. She did not expect anything from her husband-to-be, but this was a truly thoughtful gift. </p><p> </p><p>“May I?” he asked, his voice low. Natasha nodded and he gently took her wrist, his fingers tracing along her delicate skin. Cosmic energy sparked along her arm, making her heart race, and she inhaled sharply. His touch was stimulating, feathery and electric as his fingers lightly caressed her forearm and he deftly slid the bracelet onto her wrist. Natasha felt small, delicate in his large grasp, especially since he touched her like this; like she was precious and worthy of care and attention. She could not help the heat that crept up the nape of her neck as she watched him work. Charged by his touch, her gaze flicked to his, only to find that he was focused on the circle of unearthly silver around her wrist. </p><p> </p><p>“This was my mother’s,” he said softly, as his fingers traced lovingly over the braided pattern, “and her mother’s before her.” Idly, she wondered what his mother might be like. Ballads called her Fjörgyn, goddess of earth and land, mistress of Odin. She doubted anyone of Asgard wanted Thor to marry a mortal woman, but the gesture demonstrated she had at least cared for her son. She hoped she wouldn’t incur the wrath of other Aesir by killing him. His gaze finally drifted to hers, his thumb sweeping thoughtfully over the delicate skin of her pulse. The heat crept further up her neck and into her cheeks as he spoke, voice tender and low like this was only for her to hear. “She entrusted it to me so that I might give it to my bride one day. I give it to you now as a promise— you are my bride, my future wife. You are precious to me, Natasha.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s heart pounded in her ears as she studied him. He was… genuine, romantic even. She couldn’t detect a hint of insincerity. This wasn’t something her training had covered. The circle of metal felt like a conduit for his energy and it still sang against her skin when he finally pulled away. Natasha remembered herself, endeavoring to close her mouth after she realized it was slightly ajar from his unearthly touch. She swallowed hard and studied the simple band around her wrist as it still shimmered with his power. Her training told her that now might be a good time to engage him, to give him something enticing to pique his interest. But she couldn’t muster anything to further the mission, she was genuine when she spoke. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” she said, twisting the bracelet thoughtfully before meeting his gaze again. “It’s beautiful.” </p><p> </p><p>He gave her a soft, gentle smile that she felt compelled to return. He had an easiness about him that was infectious. It was plain to see now why so many followed him— he was strong, yes, powerful, absolutely, but there was something more beneath that veneer. He was genuine, <em> kind </em>. As his energy faded from the silver, the bracelet suddenly felt like a horrible weight on her wrist and she twisted it nervously. He seemed to gauge her reaction for a moment before he spoke again softly. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you afraid of me?”</p><p> </p><p>His question caught her off guard and her lips twisted into a tiny smirk. Afraid of him? “No,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>He smiled warmly at her before he hesitantly reached out and swept her loose hair behind her ear. She shivered a little, her fingers pausing over the bracelet as her gaze drifted to his chest. His thumb grazed her cheek softly and her skin tingled at the contact. “I am glad to hear it. I would not have you so,” he said gently, “I never want you to fear what I am. I am strange, I know, but do not doubt that I would never hurt you.” </p><p> </p><p>Something about his words was comforting. She knew that he meant it, that he genuinely seemed to care for her. It would make what she had to do to him easier, but it left a knot in her stomach. Her life was deceit and lies and murder— she had never known trust, or met a man who wielded so much power and refused to use it for his own ends. But she believed him. More than anything, she believed him. It made her ashamed of what she was, of what she had to do. Natasha meant to chide him, tease him in some way, but she could barely speak. There was a lump in her throat that she could not swallow and she choked a strange little laugh instead. His thumb drifted to her jawline and she looked up at him, stripped of her defenses. </p><p> </p><p>“We have everything almost settled. The final negotiations are tomorrow. I would love for you to be there and hear the terms. I want your final input and approval and to set the date,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>He was close now, his expression warm as he studied her. Normally, Natasha didn’t like the feeling of being closed in by another person, but she didn’t feel threatened by him. He radiated warmth, generosity, concern. Maybe it was because of her fragile state, but she allowed herself to be open to it, to receive the notion that he cared about her. </p><p>“There is another thing I would ask of you,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>It took her a moment to respond. Her head was swimming, her heart racing. “Anything.” Her response was small, weak. </p><p> </p><p>“May I kiss you?” </p><p> </p><p>She was becoming overwhelmed by this, overcome with a flood of emotion that she had fought so hard to master. She blinked, her lips pulling into a little smile. “Yes,” she made herself say. </p><p> </p><p>His lips met hers and her head spun. She clung to him, unable to stay grounded otherwise. The bracelet around her wrist hummed. It felt like a brand. Suddenly the realization of all this hit her. She was to become his wife. She was to marry him, bed him, kill him. Natasha gripped him hard. For the first time in a very long time, she was afraid.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A longer chapter than normal! Lots going on this week! Natasha continues to feel feelings and it's all very inconvenient. New chapter out hopefully next week. Follow me on twitter (@Yeetano) for updates, artwork, and more. </p><p>Some Mythology and culture notes for this chapter:<br/>1. Steve is singing a traditional herding call known as Kulning (in Swedish). You can listen to an example here (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KvtT3UyhibQ)<br/>2. Thor's mother isn't Frigga? Nope! While Frigga is Odin's wife, he has children by other mistresses (Fjörgyn, the personification of Earth, is Thor's mother).<br/>3. I forgot to mention in previous chapters: Midgard is Earth (the middle realm), Asgard is the home of the gods (the realm above), Jotunheim is the realm of monsters or "giants", and Helheim is the realm of the dead/ the underworld.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Natasha held it together long enough to make it seem like she was enjoying this. Part of her wanted to— but she was gripped by terror. Storm Bringer pulled away, perhaps sensing the tension in her body. He frowned a little when he looked at her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Natasha…” he said. “Are you alright?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was as if she was consumed by a terrible sickness. She thought she was better than this, stronger than this…  But right now she only wanted to scream, to run, to tear off the bracelet binding her like a shackle. It still hummed with his presence. Natasha made herself smile instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” she said. It sounded believable, so she continued, “I’m just… You’re so good to me. I can’t believe my fortune, having you as my husband.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chuckled, and it rumbled through her like thunder. She tried not to tremble. He leaned in and kissed her forehead and she couldn’t help the shiver that shot through her. “Will you say it again for me?” he asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gathered her thoughts a bit, doing her best to shake off the doubt that gripped her. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. She could picture her mistresses, she could see the anger in their eyes at this display of weakness, feel the strike of their fists, taste blood in her mouth. It steadied her a little and she smiled warmly.  “My husband,” she said, reaching up to touch his beard. “Thor.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled at her, genuinely, kindly. She made herself stay as long as she could bear before she made some excuse to leave and he saw her off. Left alone to her thoughts, Natasha choked back a scream, biting down on her knuckles instead. Tears pricked her eyes and she sucked in a shaky breath as her little turf house came into view. She didn’t know what this was, where this was coming from. She was nearly sobbing when she reached the front door and flung it open to stumble inside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knew Yelena wouldn’t be there, but it still hurt to return to her little cabin to find it empty. She wanted her sister right now. Natasha sagged back against the door, sucking panicked breaths like she was starving for air. She clasped her trembling hands over her heart, willing it to calm down. Why was this happening? What was this fear? It hadn’t been here when she first arrived, had it? She had been uncertain when she had learned her target was an Aesir, nervous when Steve had turned his attention on her, but not like this. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>afraid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It left her shaken, hollow. Natasha exhaled slowly, calming herself enough to move and sit on the bed instead. Keeping her hands over her heart, she searched for the source of this parasitic invasion on her mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It started with Steve— she had allowed him a window into her and he had seen parts of her she had worked so hard to keep hidden. There the seed was planted. Next was Thor— he was kind, genuine, caring. He wanted peace, he wanted marriage, a life with her. The thought made her insides clench painfully. To be someone’s wife, to have someone care about her. The thought made her panic anew. Natasha shut her eyes. Even Yelena was prying open her heart, contributing to this awful tenderness. She wished her sister was here, wished more than anything she would tell her everything would be all right. Natasha knew it was wrong— she should’ve turned Yelena away from her bed, should’ve lorded her break from the true path over her the moment she confided in her that she had bedded someone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha sighed, her eyes sliding open to stare at her hands. The shimmering silver of her bracelet winked back at her and the fear gripped her again. Fighting panic, Natasha fumbled, tearing the delicate circle off her wrist to throw it across the room. It sounded almost musical as it hit the wall and clattered to the floor. She slumped and buried her face in her hands, desperate to make this awful feeling within her stop. She breathed evenly, heart heavy in her chest, going over each possible source for why she felt this way over and over until she was exhausted, shaking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she found no source for the fear she felt, she repressed instead. She opened herself to numbness, to nothingness. She attacked what she felt, put aside whatever fear possessed her. She had come too far to fail now. That wasn’t an option. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena didn’t return until nightfall. Natasha had already eaten and undressed when she slipped back into the room. Her meditation had proven useful. She felt much better, more focused, numb. It was a relief, a taste of what she might be one day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sister,” she greeted coolly. Yelena glanced at her, a slow smile spreading across her face. She appeared relieved to see she had at last shed what troubled her. “What did you find?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena removed her cloak, hanging it over the back of the chair in the corner of the room. “I talked with the serving thralls first,” she said, “then made my rounds through field workers, stable hands, and so on.” Natasha watched her silently as she removed her belt and item pouches next. “Sister, you were right, it’s not just a few missing thralls. It’s dozens, and that’s just what I could uncover in a few places. It’s possibly more—  and not just Strucker’s, but Agger and Ross’s thralls as well.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha nodded, her expression impassive. Yelena looked like she wanted to sit, but Natasha made her demeanor uninviting, her body language cool and standoffish and her sister’s smile slipped, her expression becoming a little more serious. She quickly understood that they weren’t playing anymore, Natasha was readying herself to become a true Widow. The pride in Yelena’s eyes didn’t escape her, but she felt nothing. Her younger sister’s admiration did her no good. “Runt was there as well,” Yelena continued, “he was gathering information as well. Seemed to be friendly with many of the thralls already. Many of them knew him by name.” She narrowed her eyes, reluctant to give him any measure of praise. “He’s pretty subtle, a decent spy. He wouldn’t have seemed out of place if you hadn’t pointed him out to me before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha didn’t react to hearing Steve’s demeaning nickname. It didn’t bother her. She couldn’t let it. She looked to the dancing hearth fire instead, her gaze focused, calculating. “I don’t like this, sister,” she said. “The warlords are scheming, Storm Bringer included. It’s not my mission, but they might ruin it if they are discovered. Storm Bringer’s spy is sharp, if anything is amiss, the Aesir will know of it, and I can’t have that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though it would help to direct his attention, keep him from suspecting the threat came from </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, rather than the warlords,  she didn’t need to spark war before she was ready. Natasha turned her attention to her sister’s impassive face. “Tomorrow, I am to attend the final negotiations and set the wedding date. I want it as soon as possible,” she said. “Next week should give us enough time. We’ll have until then to uncover their scheme and determine if it will interfere with my mission.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Leave it to me,” Yelena said. “Please, sister. I’ll take care of this. I’ll discover what the warlords are doing and report back to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Natasha said. “Once we know enough, I’ll confront the warlords if I feel they are meddling too much.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena nodded sharply, seeming to have a renewed sense of purpose. Part of Natasha understood that her shift in demeanor impacted her younger sister as well. She seemed more sure of herself now that Natasha was overcoming her uncertainty, her fear. It wasn’t just Yelena who was reassured. She was becoming so much more, shedding old parts of her like a snake sheds its skin. Beneath the surface, fear bubbled within her. She needed time to cut that out of her, destroy it for good. She took a calming breath, handing herself over to numb repression. It felt good. It felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Natasha had no trouble sleeping that night. No dreams, no gnawing guilt or fear. She was given over to the blackness, the comforting nothingness that consumed her. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>In the morning Natasha woke early. The sun had just risen above the horizon, sending pale golden beams through the slats in her shutters. For a moment, Natasha watched the slow swirl of motes passing into and out of the light before she slipped out of bed and retrieved the bracelet she had thrown the day before, examining it in the low light before slipping in on again. It hardly had any impact on her now. Yelena still slept by the hearth and she watched her sleeping face for a moment before she moved around the room, getting ready. It was still hours before the negotiation, but she intended to be ready well before then. As she silently got dressed, pulling on her under breeches and wrapping her breastband, Yelena awoke and immediately moved to help despite the tiredness that clung to her. There was no greeting between them, just business. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What look are you going for today, sister?” she asked sleepily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Distraction,” Natasha said as she fixed the breastband in place. “I want his eyes on me, not on Ross or Agger or Strucker.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena rubbed her eyes and disguised her little smile. “We can’t have that,” she agreed.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha let Yelena decide on her outfit. In another life, she might have had a talent for textiles, for sewing and weaving. But she wasn’t a simple seamstress, she was meant for more than that. Yelena chose a deep, rich red apron dress and a simple white wool under layer. She adorned Natasha with brooches and bead necklaces, fixed her hair in an intricate half braid that let her long red waves flow down her back. By the time Yelena had finished with her hair, the sun had risen higher overhead and Natasha could hear the bustle of the little village as people began their days. As a finishing touch, Natasha rolled her sleeves up enough to reveal the silver bracelet, the symbol of her engagement, her bond to her target. She fingered it with determination, tracing the delicate braided pattern. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stood, selecting a fur mantle to wear around her shoulders. “I’ll be back this afternoon. You can tell me the details of your side mission when you return,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena stifled a yawn and stretched. “I don’t know when that’ll be,” she said. “I’m not sure how far this goes.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Take your time,” Natasha said coolly, as she fastened the soft fur around her shoulders. “You have until the day before the wedding.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without another word, Natasha left, leaving Yelena to her own devices. It spoke of her trust for her younger sister to get the job done. They didn’t need niceties or pleasantries. Yelena was here to work and so was she. They weren’t real sisters, she reminded herself, they weren’t family. Natasha quickly took some breakfast from the longhouse and ate as she walked through the village to make her way to Storm Bringer’s abode. Briefly, she caught sight of her old cloak again and she frowned. The thought of Steve made her heart leap into her throat. It unnerved her— he had a way of undoing her careful conditioning, making her doubt herself.  She didn’t need further complications today. She was thankful when he disappeared behind the longhouse, heading once more for the woods. That was an irritation as well. Yelena had confirmed his involvement in whatever this scheme was and it seemed he was busy with that again today. She sighed and ignored him for now, heading for Storm Bringer’s manor. Steve didn’t concern her right now. He wasn’t her mission. If she could have it her way, she was done with him. She had gotten what she needed, said what she needed to say to him, defined their relationship enough for her to know what part she needed to play with him— and now she was done. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just like the day before, she caught Storm Bringer as he was leaving. He looked regal in the bright morning light, standing head and shoulders above his men as he left for Strucker’s longhouse. When he saw her, he stopped in his tracks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said softly. “Allfather’s beard.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha smiled. “Good morning,” she said. He seemed speechless for a moment, his lips parted and she laughed gently, high and light. “Thor?” Natasha took his hand and bristled, the bracelet around her wrist became charged with his power. She smiled through the sensation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Storm Bringer squeezed her hand lightly. “You look stunning,” he said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha smiled shyly, hiding her expression behind her hand. “You think so?” She tugged him gently and they walked hand in hand toward the longhouse. “I wanted to match,” she said, gesturing to his crimson cloak. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughed his rich, baritone laugh. “Clever of you.” He curled his other hand into a fist, eyes lifting toward the sky as he triumphantly declared, “We will appear as a united front!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha laughed, a reedy sound and turned on her most dazzling smile. He grinned back at her and Natasha was pleased how taken he seemed with her. “Shall I wear this to the wedding?” she asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Storm Bringer studied her, his smile never fading. “I have no mind for such things,” he said. “There is no colour in Midgard that would not look well on you. You could appear in buckskin and be no less beautiful.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha looked up at him, giving him a shy smile. “But do you have a favourite?” she asked. “A colour that you favour more than others?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was thoughtful for a moment, before he looked down at her with a gentle expression. He met her eyes and his smile grew. “Green,” he said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sounded so kind, so warm. It was plain how much he liked her. Natasha gripped him tightly, the fear simmering under her carefully constructed mask threatened to return. She didn’t let it. “Green it is,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They entered the longhouse, which was abuzz and bustling with people. Strucker’s rooms were located in the back half of the great house, separated from the feast hall by thick, wooden doors. They entered his private quarters, which he had transformed into a negotiation space. A long table sat in the centre of the room, the walls were adorned with round shields and antlers, the banners of the three old warlords hung from the rafters. Storm Bringer had no banner of his own. The three warlords were already there, seated in grand wooden chairs. Their conversation was cut short by Natasha and the Aesir’s arrival and they stood as their guests entered the room. Storm Bringer immediately bristled at the sight of them, and she squeezed his hand in a reassuring gesture. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Daughter,” Strucker greeted stiffly. “Welcome.” Natasha smiled kindly and he faltered and looked away. “You look well,” he added softly. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, father,” she said. “And thank you, good lords, for letting me sit in on your negotiations.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Agger had the good sense not to leer at her this time and Ross appraised her coolly, unfazed by her appearance. He gave her a curt smile in acknowledgement before they all sat to discuss the terms of the wedding. The four men had already agreed on the terms of sharing wealth, assistance in combat, and trade terms. Storm Bringer laid out the terms for her so that she may add her piece. There was to be no more war among the warlords except in defense of their own lands. Storm Bringer would not help in any conquest attempts, and if any warlord engaged in further destruction, they would be enemies of the Aesir once more and could expect swift and decisive destruction. Natasha agreed the terms sounded fair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For her own part, Natasha negotiated her bride price— making Strucker visibly pale, and requested the warlords free as many thralls as was feasible for them as a wedding gift to her. None of them liked it, except Storm Bringer, who shot her a pleased smile. When the Aesir wasn’t looking, Natasha levelled a terrifying, murderous look at the three old warlords. None of this was real. These terms were all dressing, and meant nothing for their future prosperity. They quickly changed their tunes soon after and agreed to free thralls for her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The negotiations went far longer than Natasha would’ve liked. Storm Bringer’s cosmic power was beginning to become stifling in the private room. Her bracelet became charged with his power, humming against her skin. It was becoming difficult for her to maintain her smile. Finally, all terms were laid out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If we are all in agreeance,” the Aesir said, looking at the four of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha smiled. “I agree,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aye, I agree,” said Strucker with a tired smile. “I look forward to counting you among my kin.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other two warlords voiced their agreement to the terms and Storm Bringer heaved a great sigh of relief. “Then all that leaves is the day of the wedding—” he looked to Natasha with a warm smile. “Name your day, my lady.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had given this a lot of thought. “Next week,” she said. “On Frigg’s Day, to bless the union.”  That would give her enough time to make any final preparations she needed for the mission and time for Strucker to prepare the feast that would follow the wedding ceremony. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A fine day,” Storm Bringer agreed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha put on her best grin.“I must prepare then. There are many rituals I must perform which must be done in female company.” She looked around the room, “I will not see any of you until the wedding.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were many traditions she was expected to participate in, but Natasha intended to use the time alone to tie up loose ends and steel herself for becoming a Widow. The acidic fear lanced through her again and she swallowed. She needed to contain this. There were rituals of her own she needed to practice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stood and the warlords all stood with her, but before she could leave, Strucker took her hand. She paused in surprise. “Before you go, daughter,” Stucker said, “I wish to see you later. I have something to give you.” He shot Storm Bringer a glance before clarifying, “For your wedding.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha narrowed her eyes, unsure of what he was talking of. “Of course,” she said brightly. “I will return this afternoon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Storm Bringer clasped her arm and she turned to him. “I’ll see you out,” he said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha was numb as he walked her from the longhouse. She was aware that they talked, aware that he sounded excited, but her head felt strange. The date was set— she was one step closer to completing her mission. It barely registered when Storm Bringer left her, giving her a brief kiss on her hands. His lips on her skin made her feel nothing and she was relieved. She felt comforted to feel nothing at all. The day was set, her graduation was finally at hand. Fear, cold, prickling, all consuming, sliced through her carefully constructed barriers once more, and she faltered, her lips parting in shock. The source of her fear, of her uncertainty became clearer and Natasha froze in the courtyard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was she afraid to graduate? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She exhaled slowly, her brow furrowed in confusion. No… No. She had been chosen for this, born for this. It was fate, it was destiny. It was all that she wanted. Everything she felt now, the fear, the uncertainty, the doubt was weakness. The Red Room was saving her from suffering, saving her from her weakness. They had forged her already into something greater. It was more than she could’ve dreamed of. She was becoming perfection, flawless, untouchable. How could she ever repay them for that? And now she had the gall to feel, to falter. She had the audacity to care about others, to become attached to Yelena, to Steve, to Thor. She was unworthy of the Widows’ teachings. She curled her hands into tight fists, her teeth clenched unbearably tight. But the Widows were forgiving, merciful. They saw something in her worth saving. It was there when they bought her from her parents, when they trained her, shaped her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her graduation was the first step in offering up the remaining pieces of herself— her heart, her soul. Natasha breathed in deeply, focusing on how scared she felt, how broken. These pieces of humanity made her suffer like this and she couldn’t wait to give them up. The Widows would reshape them, turn them to stone, to sharp edges that would protect her from feeling like this ever again. There would be no more hurt, suffering, fear in her heart. She would be remade, shown the true path. It would be bliss, ecstasy— power and control over her life, over others. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She held on to that feeling as tightly as she could, keeping it like a guiding star within her heart until there was no room within her for anything else. Her decision was absolute. She didn’t choose fear, she chose control. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Determined, Natasha quietly returned to the longhouse, slipping past the men and women milling about within the hall to make her way to Strucker’s private quarters. She intended to see what he wanted from her and get this meeting over with, but before she opened the door, she paused. She could hear Agger and Ross with Strucker— their voices low and secretive as they spoke in hushed tones. She leaned against the wall as if she were fixing her mussed hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha listened hard, only able to pick up pieces of what they said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Can we extract it? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She recognized Ross’s gruff, blunt voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Strucker said something in reply that she couldn’t pick up on. Agger asked something nervously. It sounded as though he was pacing, his footfalls heavy across the wooden planks of the floor.</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The wedding date is our deadline. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Strucker said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>In case the Widow fails. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t like the sound of that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Good. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ross said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Speak of this no more. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She heard him move to leave, his footsteps drawing closer to the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What of—  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Agger began.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Leave it to me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Strucker said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You heard Ross, we do not speak of this again. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha quietly left before the warlords could spot her. Everyone had their own plans, it seemed, and none of them concerned her. Steve and Storm Bringer were up to something in the woods and now the three old warlords were putting together some kind of contingency plan in anticipation of her failure to complete this mission. Did everyone doubt her? She chewed her lip in frustration. This was what she got for her display of uncertainty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha retreated for the moment. She returned to her turfhouse to wait until some time had passed before she returned to Strucker to see what he wanted with her. She wanted him to believe there was no chance that she had overheard them. It would be a mistake to overplay her hand, so she resolved to hold on to this information until it proved useful. It was afternoon when she went back. By then, she had her fear and anger back under careful control. She knocked on his door and entered without waiting for his response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was sitting behind the negotiation table, a small wooden lockbox in front of him which he was tracing with a melancholic fondness. Natasha shut the door behind her and ignored Strucker’s grimace to see her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” she asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked thoughtful, his jaw clenched in a pained expression for a moment before he slid the small wooden lockbox across the table toward her. Natasha frowned and examined the box. It was carved with delicate patterns, inlaid with silver. It looked expensive. She shot the old warlord a brief glance before she opened the lid to find a bridal circlet inside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was silver, delicately braided, and adorned with crystals of white and purple. Twisted copper wire formed vines and thinly beaten leaves. Brightly coloured silk cords were tied to the back and side of the crown. Natasha frowned and reached out to trace the delicate leaves of the beautiful piece. Strucker stood abruptly and paced, his hands behind his back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This was meant for my daughter,” he said tersely, “it was her mother’s before her, and hers before her and so on.” He looked hollow, empty, and massaged his brow tiredly. “You will wear it to the wedding.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha fingered the purple gemstones inlaid into the metal wiring. Strucker watched her for a moment as she inspected the heirloom before he continued, his voice dripping with disdain. “Natasha— my real daughter, she was a good girl. A kind girl. Maybe too kind.” He shot Natasha a rueful glance. “Though you are far more beautiful than she. But I suppose that’s the standard with you Widows, you are beautiful like a poisonous snake. Pretty to look at, but never to be held.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha snapped the lid of the box shut and leveled her gaze on Strucker. “Is there a point to this?” she asked lightly. “Or do you just like to run your mouth?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Strucker just sneered. “I’m merely making an observation,” he said, “merely reminiscing about my darling daughter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha snorted, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “Well, thanks for the trinket. I’ll leave you to fawn over your precious memories,” she said. If he wasn’t willing to get to the point, then she was wasting time here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Strucker narrowed his eyes, intent on asserting his power over her.  “Do not mock me, Widow. You are a cheap imitation of my child, a shade of her. You wearing her things, using her name makes me sick. I loved my girl, the sooner you stop pretending to be her, the better.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That explained his animosity toward her this past month. But he should know better than to cross her. Natasha laughed cruelly. “Loved?” she asked, “is that what you call it?” He glowered, his teeth gritted in seething anger. She leaned in, appraising him coolly. “You sold your children, Strucker. Your darling Natasha was murdered, brutalized by your enemy in the name of your pointless war.” He faltered, shock apparent on his face. “I heard they sent her back to you piece by piece and you refused to yield,” she continued. “You refused to surrender to spare her life. I heard when they sent you back her head, she was so battered, so carved up, that she wasn’t recognizable, and you speak to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> of love?” She laughed then and he watched her with hateful eyes. “I know exactly my purpose here, Strucker. I know what my role is, and yet you fear that I will usurp your daughter's place, somehow defile her memory by what </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> have asked me to do?” He simmered, rage building in his expression with every word and Natasha relished in his anger. “Truly, you love none but yourself, and saying otherwise is a lie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t pretend to know what you’re talking about,” he seethed, eyes wide with anger. He spoke dangerously low and Natasha had the sense that she had uncovered something deeply personal. “What do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> know of love? You’re a Widow. You’re not meant to be loved. Not a soul cares about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I know I loved my girl.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha smirked, letting his words slide off her like it was nothing. She should leave, but she found herself provoking him further. “And now you’ve lost everything. How long did it take Storm Bringer to undo your years of conquest? Months? Weeks?” She scoffed and his expression darkened. “You lost your girl for nothing. Storm Bringer owns Zemo’s territory now. He was the one who avenged your daughter’s death while you sat back and let your enemy cut her into pieces. She is dead and you resorted to hiring a poison snake to take her place. If I wear her things, bear her name, it is only because you allowed it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Strucker’s rage boiled over. Her pounded his fist on the table, his expression contorted with rage, but Natasha was unfazed. “I will not lose!” he shouted. “I fought for years, gave up everything I had for this fight and now some young warlord with the power of the gods thinks he can take what is </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!” His eyes were wide, face red as he spoke. The veins in his neck and temples bulged from his skin. He met her gaze, his eyes wild. “This will not all be for nothing, Natasha’s death, my sacrifices will not have been for nothing!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now it made sense. He was mad. He had lost his mind to this cause as well. He was shaking with rage, his eyes bugged from his head, spittle clinging to the salt and pepper of his beard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha cocked her head to the side with a sigh. This was the weakness of the unworthy, the ones not selected to walk the true path. It helped her to see it, it only clarified her need to abandon her own weakness. If she let it consume her, it would make her like him. “I don’t have time for your histrionics,” she said, “I have a mission to complete and you can cry all you like over your dead daughter when it’s done.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gathered up the box and Strucker’s gaze flicked to it briefly, his expression darkening. Tucking the box under her arm, Natasha turned to leave. Her hand was on the door latch when Strucker said, “At least I can say I wanted my child, that I loved her. Who wanted you, you nameless whore?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She slammed the door shut behind her, her brow furrowed. A barb stuck in her heart, sending a deep hurt through her. Natasha closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself before she left the longhouse, gripping the box tightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha had meant to return to her cabin, but found herself heading for the bluffs overlooking the ocean instead. She couldn’t say what possessed her, but she wanted to be alone. The thought of the stifling darkness of her little room made her breath catch in her throat. She needed to recentre herself, remind herself of her purpose. The ground was spongy underfoot, the yellowed grass damp as the frost melted in the afternoon sun. Every day looked more and more like spring, but the wind had a bite to it and by the ocean, it was particularly fierce. From the cliffs above, Natasha watched the steel grey of the churning waves as they crashed into shore. She inhaled deeply, savouring the salt smell of the air, the way it clung to the back of her throat and tongue. When she could give herself to these moments, she could find a sense of peace. She could let go of the things that hurt her. It was how she had lived as long as she had without giving in to the crushing despair that had followed her all her life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re not meant to be loved. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Strucker’s words reverberated through her. The wind whipped her cheeks, making her eyes water, so she shut them. Natasha counted her breaths in and out, timing them with the waves ebbing and flowing on the rocks. She knew she wasn’t meant to be loved. Everything life had taught her, all of the lessons she had learned since she was a child gave her the conclusion that she was better off without love at all. But… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha curled inward, her knuckles white from gripping the box so tightly. It felt like a heavy burden in her hands, the precious heirloom inside a reminder of something she would never have.  For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder what it might feel like to have an heirloom like this, to have a mother and brothers and sisters, friends and neighbours to laugh with her and talk of her marriage like they were happy for her. The wind rushed up to meet her from the waters below, cold and unfriendly against her skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wondered what it might feel like to have a family. Yelena was the closest thing she had to it, but once they were both Widows, that would be over. Natasha shook herself, her face flushed with heat, a pit opening in her heart like a gaping wound. The thought was there again— she was afraid to graduate, afraid to abandon the possibility that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> be loved. There was nothing to love about her. Without the Widows, she was nothing but discarded waste. Natasha gripped the box tightly, wishing she could throw it away into the sea and cast off everything it represented. Love, marriage, family, hope for the future. She didn’t need any of those things. She inhaled deeply, trying to let go of whatever part of her was hurt by Strucker’s words. She imagined cutting out that piece of her and releasing it into the sea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Natasha.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had been so wrapped up in her meditative state that she hadn’t heard Steve approach until he was directly behind her. Surprised, Natasha twisted and threw a swift jab, only having enough self awareness to pull her punch at the last second. Steve barely sidestepped and she clipped his cheekbone. They both stared at each other in shock, his blue eyes wide and searching. Hot anger immediately flooded through her to see him. It was embarrassing to be caught out like this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rubbed his cheek, a little frown on his face. “I was calling—” He faltered to see her watery eyes, her flushed cheeks. “Are you alright?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frustrated, Natasha huffed and searched for the box she had dropped in her surprise. It had tumbled and fallen open and the crown had rolled out onto the wet ground, the silk chords fluttered sadly in the wind. Steve followed her gaze to the ornate circlet before he shot her a questioning look. He stepped over to it and picked it up while Natasha gathered the box, trying to think of a lie to tell him about why she was out here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was quiet, inspecting the silver circlet thoughtfully. “Is this your bridal crown?” he asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha nodded. “It was my mother’s.” The lie tasted like ash in her mouth. She looked at him, took in the concern in his eyes before she turned her attention to the empty box. “What are you doing out here?” she asked tiredly. She had resolved never to see him again. He was bad for her mission, she told herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve held out her delicate crown. “I was coming from the woods,” he said. “I saw you and…” he sighed and looked her in the eyes, his expression earnest. “I just— You looked sad.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Is that what she was? Natasha had nothing to say, she just stared at the crown in his hands, resenting everything it stood for. She studied the distant waves instead. She felt him shift beside her and looked at him to find he was worried. He seemed at a loss for how to help her. She inhaled, smiling at him as best she could. It must not have been convincing, because Steve looked heartbroken for her. Her crown was still in his outstretched hand and she reached out to take it from him, but her fingers brushed his and the contact opened a deep need within her. She wanted contact, she wanted connection. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Why did she do this to herself? It was torment to want something she could never have. Looking down to inspect the circlet, she couldn’t disguise how troubled she was. Instead she masked her feelings, buried them deep within her. Steve suddenly snatched the circlet from her, and she snapped her head up to look at him with a frown as he placed it on his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha blinked, and Steve smirked and picked up the hem of his tunic as if it were a dress and fluttered his eyelashes at her. “Do I make a stunning bride?” he joked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha was frozen for a moment, her brow furrowed in amazement. Something deep within her broke open and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she laughed. Really laughed. It wasn’t fake, or forced, or done to ingratiate herself to her target. It was her real, honest laughter. She had forgotten what it sounded like. Steve’s smile widened to hear it— she’d never seen him look so bright, so joyful. “Oh you do,” she said between fits of laughter. “Very pretty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve beamed at her. “Ooh, Storm Bringer,” he said, making his voice high and light. His impression of her was ghastly and she covered her mouth to try and stifle her laughter, but it just kept bubbling up out of her. Steve clasped his hands over his heart like a smitten maiden and she was nearly in tears. “Perhaps he’d prefer me to you now,” he said. “When he sees me like this, he’ll be struck dumb by my beauty. ‘Natasha who?’ He will say. ‘I only have eyes for Steve’.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha lost her composure, hardly able to catch her breath. She covered her eyes to hide from his ridiculous antics and took a moment to collect herself. Natasha finally managed to get her laughter under control, though a wide smile still split her face. She exhaled slowly before she faced him again. He still wore her crown, lopsided and titled, though his expression now was soft, his smile warm as he watched her. She sighed and wiped her eyes, warmth spreading through her— he was trying to cheer her up. The unease, the fear had lifted and she shook her head, closing the distance between them to carefully lift the intricate circlet from his honeyed hair. Steve bowed his head a little to give her better access. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps you’re right,” she teased. “What chance do I have when Storm Bringer sees you? You know full well how handsome you are.” Untangling an errant strand of his hair from the braided silver, she lifted the circlet from his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She expected some clever response, but Steve didn’t reply and she flicked her gaze to him, only to find that his cheeks were bright red, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do I?” Steve said. He didn’t carry it off as coolly as he might have intended. He was completely flustered. Natasha tilted her head with a frown. Maybe he didn’t know. Something about that was endearing. All her life she was taught that her looks were a weapon, that they were useful for her missions, and it was strange to meet someone so obviously embarrassed to be noticed for his good looks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She reached up and patted his inflamed cheek, “Maybe you don’t, but that’s alright.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His answering smile was boyish, like he was trying to hide how easily he flushed. “You really think I’m handsome?” he said. His hand came up to take her temperature, a look of mock concern colouring his features. “Are you feeling alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha shot him a withering look and swatted his hand away with a grin. “You have a pretty face, yes, though the effect is often ruined whenever you open your mouth.” Steve laughed, the sound bright and warm, though the tips of his ears were still red with embarrassment. “I’m sure you’ll make someone very happy one day,” Natasha said. She really hoped it was true. She hoped he fell in love, settled down far, far away from here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed and Natasha glanced at him to find a troubled expression on his face. “I doubt that,” he said. When she looked at him with confusion he elaborated, “I’m a hellion, remember?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha laughed again— bright and honest and Steve looked like he couldn’t help his smile when he heard it. She collected herself and turned her gaze on the circlet in her hands, tracing the ornate leaves thoughtfully before she placed the crown on her head, adjusting it to fit. The silk unfurled and fluttered like a veil across her face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you think?” she asked. She lowered her voice to mimic his, giving him a terrible impression of her own. “Am I a stunning bride?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Steve had no response. His mouth was open like he had intended to say something, but nothing came out. He studied her with such a degree of tenderness that it made her shy and her gaze fell to her feet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What would you have me say?” he asked softly. His voice was low— she was standing closer to him than she realized. Goosebumps rose over her skin and she endeavored to keep this light, friendly.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha gave him a little half smile, her tone teasing. “The truth.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve was quiet, and she couldn’t make herself look at him. He radiated calm, control, and it unnerved her. He seemed to disguise his reaction as much as she did and she faltered. She had never seen him act like this before. “You know full well how beautiful you are,” he said, repeating her words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was relieved. His response felt safe, surface level. But between them there was a strange pull, a powerful unspoken connection that she didn’t quite understand. Natasha smiled and removed the crown from her head, quickly changing the subject. “Since you’re here, you’ll be the first to know— the wedding date is set,” she said cheerfully. Maybe too cheerfully. “Next week.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt less frightening to her now. It didn’t hurt so much to think about it. Maybe she had Steve to thank for that. Steve was quiet. She wished he would say something, but the silence weighed heavily on her instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to go through with it.” He said it so softly she thought she’d imagined it. But when she turned to look at him, his expression was grim, eyes fixed on the horizon. What a shocking thing to say. Steve seemed surprised he said it as well and cleared his throat, giving her a weak smile. “Sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha’s gaze drifted to her feet. “There’s too much at stake,” she said. She frowned. It sounded as though she didn’t want to get married. Steve couldn’t have any doubts about her, not when he was close with Storm Bringer. “Not that I don’t want this,” she amended, “I’m in love with him— Thor.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve’s lips parted in surprise before he looked away. “Aye, he’s really something,” he agreed. Natasha carefully folded the silk back around the crown before she returned the circlet to its box. “I’m happy for you, Natasha.” He sounded like he meant it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a knot in her chest and she blinked hard, her brow furrowed. She drew a breath, a smile playing at her lips, but found she had nothing to say in return. They were both quiet for a moment before she quietly said, “Thank you, Steve.” He smiled in response, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His cheek was bright red in the spot she had punched him and she frowned and reached out to gently brush the little bruise forming on his face. “And sorry, for this.” Her thumb traced the ridge of his cheekbone, and his eyes met hers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was worth it to see you smile, Natasha,” he said. She withdrew, her brow furrowed in confusion and he rubbed his cheek uncomfortably. “And I’ve learned my lesson— I shouldn’t sneak up on you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha narrowed her eyes, slightly insulted at the suggestion. “You didn’t—” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grinned, his expression sly. “Jumped nearly the height of a ship’s mast, you did. I thought for a moment you’d take flight.” He looked to the clouds overhead as if imagining her up there and laughed.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha could feel a laugh of her own coming on and playfully shoved him. It was easy to forget her troubles when she was with him. Whatever held her back before was gone— she was lighter, different. Suddenly, she was eager to return. This lightness filled her with determination and she turned to leave, but found she couldn’t make herself go alone. Natasha grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled him back toward the longhouse with her. “Don’t vex me, Steve,” she warned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chuckled and was easily pulled along, his hand fit easily in hers. “Yes, my lady,” he said.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So this is a bit of a long chapter (lots to cover!). Follow me on twitter (@Yeetano) for updates, doodles, and more!</p><p>I'll include some more on cultural notes as they come up in later chapters. Frigg is the goddess of marriage and Odin's wife. Frigg's day (Friday) is a good day, traditionally, to have a wedding. </p><p>Chapter next week :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Choice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As they made their way back to the village, Steve fell into step at her side, slipping his hand from hers. She grimaced that she had held it for longer than she had intended. When he had called her his friend the other day, she thought she was doing him a disservice by being friendly with him before delivering him to his fate. Now it was clear that it was more than that. She <em> liked </em> the feeling he gave her. It was addictive, dangerously so, and she was using him now to pacify her fear, her unease. She was using him like a crutch to further her own ends, and it troubled her.  Natasha curled her hand into her dress, trying to brush off the sensation of his hand in hers. She was lucky Steve had more restraint than she did. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha pursed her lips, clutching the box she held tightly. She was losing sight of her purpose, spending time with him like she did. She needed to stay on track. “You said you were in the woods earlier,” she said, striking up a conversation. “Was it about the missing thralls again?” </p><p> </p><p>Steve was quiet, his expression darkening. He really was terrible at hiding what he felt. “Don’t worry about that, Natasha,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brought it up the other day.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha frowned. He was back to being cagey about it again. She appealed to his kindness instead. “Are we in danger?” she asked softly. </p><p> </p><p>Steve sighed, shooting her an appraising glance. He seemed reluctant to trust her with this and his answer was slow, calculated. “I’m a suspicious man,” he said. “There have been many attempts on Storm Bringer’s life. Sorcery, poison, hired assassins from all over— The Hand, AIM, Serpent Society…” he smiled humourlessly to remember that one. “Some of our intelligence whispered of a Red Room, a cult of assassins, soldiers.” Natasha’s heart leapt at the mention of the Red Room and she carefully masked her response. Steve sighed and watched his feet as he walked, before he put on a little smile, his expression reassuring. “We’ve thwarted them all, but I cannot help my suspicions.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha smiled wanly, deeply unsettled. He spoke of the Red Room so casually. Of course he might’ve heard about them if he was neck deep in the world of assassins and espionage. The Red Room allowed it, using whispers to spread the reputation of the Widows. Nobody knew enough about the Widows to say much beyond how deadly and efficient they were. It felt as though she had lost a degree of separation between them. Their worlds were closer than she would like. Natasha quickly suppressed her unease, but it was too late— the realization was there. She never wanted him to know what she was. She wanted him to keep looking at her like she was his friend, like he was fond of her. “It sounds serious,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Steve pursed his lips, his expression grim. “Aye, the road hasn’t been easy…” he paused for a moment as if considering whether or not this was scaring her. “I'm just being cautious.” </p><p> </p><p>“I understand,” she said softly. She paused, considering for a moment. “Just… be careful, Steve.” It was a warning. If he crossed the warlords, that was his business, but if he crossed <em> her </em>… she didn’t want to think what she would do. She hadn’t considered that it might be her, personally, who ended his life. The thought made her cold. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha flicked her gaze to the village. They were on the outskirts and it felt strangely like an ending— a return to her duties. Whatever this spell was would be broken the moment they returned. She stopped, and Steve paused beside her. “Thank you,” she said. “For finding me. For cheering me up.” She brushed her hair from her cheek. If this was the last she saw of him, then at least they could part on good terms. She would make it her mission to avoid him for his own safety. “I’m going to be preparing for the wedding after today, so I won’t see you or anyone before then. Maidenhood rituals and such.” </p><p> </p><p>“Right,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“But after I’m married, perhaps we’ll share a drink.” It was a false promise, and she smiled brightly. “I’ll actually be ‘your lady’ then.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve gave her a lopsided grin. “I’ll hold you to it,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha adjusted the box in her grip and turned her attention back to the village. She studied the crowd, the bustle of warriors talking and laughing. As she scanned their faces, she caught sight of Yelena and her heart stopped.  She was facing away, appearing from behind one of the store houses, but Natasha couldn’t be certain that her sister had seen her with Steve and took a hasty step away from him. He frowned a little, and she gave him a little smile. “Until then,” she said, as she walked away. She didn’t wait for his reply. When she left him, she left her doubt behind as well. Being caught with him would be a mistake she couldn’t afford to make.</p><p> </p><p>As she walked, Natasha organised her thoughts, her emotions. She compartmentalized him, grateful that he had helped put her back in order. But she was focused on her mission now and quickly joined her sister in the village. They exchanged pleasantries as they headed back for Natasha’s cabin. Once they were safely inside, they both dropped the pretense. It was silent for a moment, her grey eyed sister watching her closely. Natasha bristled, suppressing her weakness and hiding it from her sister. But if Yelena spotted Steve with her in the village, she didn’t say anything. </p><p> </p><p>“What news?” Natasha asked coolly as she bolted the door and tossed the box with her bridal crown onto the bed. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena was quiet for a moment, her grey eyes sharp and appraising. She seemed to study Natasha closely as if wondering which sister she was talking to today— weak Natasha, or the future Black Widow. “From what I can tell, the thralls are being rounded up. There was mention of a work camp of sorts somewhere deep within the woods. Nobody has returned from there. I can track them, if you wish. Though by the sounds of it, it could be a long investigation. I expect I’d be gone for most of the week.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha met her sister’s steady gaze. She wanted to show her her resolve. She was done with faltering and giving in to her emotion. “As long as you’re back before the wedding.” </p><p> </p><p>“I will be,” Yelena said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha shrugged off her fur mantle and placed it back in her clothing trunk. “Then go, I can manage here.” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena looked like she wanted to say something, but held back. “Are you sure?”</p><p> </p><p>A flicker of anger shot through Natasha and she turned to face her sister. “You doubt me?” Yelena gave her a noncommittal shrug, her expression unreadable. Natasha lifted her chin, her expression dangerous. “You’re not here to question me, <em> Ye-le-na </em>.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sister,” Yelena replied, but she had a defiant gleam in her eyes that irritated Natasha further. She didn’t need more doubt surrounding her ability to complete this mission. </p><p> </p><p>She needed Yelena to believe her, so she spoke to wound. “I know what I’m doing, <em> tainted </em>sister, false Widow. Can you say the same?” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena’s lips parted before she fixed her expression back into stony impassiveness. “No, sister,” she said quietly. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha turned back to her things. “Then do as you’re told,” she said coldly. “Don’t question your betters.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sister,” came Yelena’s reply. </p><p> </p><p>She didn’t turn around when she heard Yelena leave. Only when she was alone in the quiet little space of her cabin did Natasha look back at the latched door. Yelena was the same as Steve— an addiction she had to cast off. This was the beginning of her own personal rituals. It began with severing her connections. The Widows taught her that lesson when she became a sister. Ties were temporary, they didn’t serve a purpose in the end. Natasha twisted her bracelet thoughtfully before slipping it from her wrist. </p><p> </p><p>Even so, it didn’t stop her from feeling hurt, from hating the look on her sister’s face when she dangled her past infidelity over her head. Natasha closed her eyes. It didn’t matter anymore. The beginning of her graduation had begun and now she had only to prepare for the end. </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Natasha stayed sequestered in her cabin, spending her days in careful meditation. One day bled into the next and the wedding fast approached. It was only four days away now and she counted the passing of each day with a little notch cut into the windowsill. It might be vanity to keep track as she did, but there was little else to do. Maidenhood rituals were meant to be done in female company— family, friends, and neighbours. Seeing as she had none of those things, Natasha mostly spent her days alone, waiting for Yelena to return with news of the warlords’ scheme. </p><p> </p><p>Idly, she traced the mark she had cut into the wood with her finger, pushing the displaced wood shavings off the edge and onto the ground below. She felt ready. She felt good about this, confident. Her time alone was helping her to stay focused, numb. There were no more late nights comforting her sister, no more losing her temper, being thrown off-guard by Steve. She was hardening her heart, sharpening her defenses. Her blade bit into the wood and she flicked her gaze to the distant treeline. She was nearly there— Black Widow. It was within reach. </p><p> </p><p>Movement caught her attention and she recognized her cloak again. It was such a brief glimpse, disappearing as quickly as it had been there. Steve must be up to something again. The thought swelled something deep within her chest. This felt like a test. Natasha chewed the inside of her lip, ruminating. Yelena was still gone and she wasn’t expecting her back for another few days. Natasha pulled her knife from the windowsill, her eyes fixed on the treeline where her cloak had disappeared. </p><p> </p><p>It might be better to let this go, to ignore Steve and whatever he was doing. She chewed her lower lip, calculating. This was the last piece she needed before she committed herself fully to her graduation. Yelena would return with her analysis, but Natasha couldn’t stand the world moving around her. Steve’s presence was like a sore, a taunting reminder that she may never know what he and Storm Bringer were doing all this time.  If she let this opportunity slip away again, it would drive her mad. Natasha pursed her lips, watching the forest for a moment longer before she made up her mind. Shuttering the windows, Natasha turned and got dressed in her tunic and breeches, pulling on her helmet, and set out to follow. One way or another, she was going to find out what was going on. </p><p> </p><p>It didn’t take her long to pick up Steve’s trail. She wasn’t trying to catch him, she just wanted to tail him, find out where he had been going all this time. Natasha followed his footprints in soft earth, silently wending her way through the forest. Despite the frost lifting and the sun shining overhead, it was still bitterly cold today. The wind nipped and bit at any exposed skin and Natasha ignored the chill settling in. She was entering deep woods now. They hadn’t been this far even for their hunting expedition. The trees grew tall and thin in close little clusters; the tangle of yellowed grass became a little more barren the further she followed him in. The soft ground gave way to shale rock and bright moss. It smelled loamy, rich and sweet with the rot of foliage. As they went deeper, a fog set in, blanketing the ground and obscuring her view of Steve’s tracks. Natasha pursed her lips and took note of the light overhead. She had been following him for about an hour and while daylight was getting longer with the coming of spring, she was still wary of nightfall approaching. It would take some time to return to her cabin.</p><p> </p><p>But she kept her pace, stalking after him, in hopes of getting to the bottom of this at last. It was the final piece she needed, the last loose end she needed tied to put her at ease for her graduation. As she silently followed Steve over a gentle hillside, the forest gave way to a large clearing still covered in patches of ice and snow. The ground sloped down toward the clearing, crags of stone and young trees grew sparsely in the emptiness of the space. At its centre was a large lake, still frozen over from winter’s holdover. The fog was thicker here, curling and drifting over the lake’s icy surface, throwing the whole clearing into a grey haze. It was here that Natasha finally spotted him— her cloak stark against the snow. She crouched and retreated to the treeline, remaining close enough to clearly see what would transpire. Steve took down his hood and she frowned. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t him. </p><p> </p><p>She recognized Sharon when the girl turned around, her expression knit with concern. She looked like she was waiting for someone. Natasha exhaled slowly, beginning to piece together what was going on— Sharon’s father was missing, she recalled. It was possible Steve had given the girl the cloak, given his kindness and connection with the family. Or, more insidiously, he had recruited the young girl into a spy ring for Storm Bringer. Natasha frowned. Knowing Steve, that wasn’t the likely option. She studied the girl carefully, her mistake weighing on her. Steve and Sharon were around the same height, and looking at the girl now, it seemed she had added layers to her shoulders to disguise her physique. Not a bad disguise. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha sucked in an irritated little breath. Either way, this was an oversight, sloppiness on her part. She had assumed Steve had been the sole wearer this whole time. When had he made the switch? Sharon must be looking for Steve out here. Recalling the other times she had met Steve in the woods, Natasha realized he had likely met with the girl before— the time he was singing absently, scratching maps into the mud, when she was on her outing with Storm Bringer, and likely a number of times beyond that. </p><p> </p><p>“Steve?” Sharon called.</p><p> </p><p>Her voice rang through the clearing before it was dampened by the surrounding trees. The land seemed to swallow her up, make her small, alone. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha narrowed her eyes, watching Sharon in the emptiness of the clearing. Above, the sky was beginning to turn. It was late afternoon now and there were only a few hours of daylight left before nightfall. She sighed. If this was just about the girl’s missing father, then she needn't waste her time out here. She should go back to her cabin, await Yelena’s report. But something made her stay. </p><p> </p><p>Sharon took a few tentative steps toward the distant treeline, calling again for Steve. She turned around, searching for him, and Natasha stayed low and out of sight. It was silent for a time, Sharon’s body language becoming increasingly nervous. She shifted from foot to foot, carefully scanning the treeline for any sign of him. From the distant treeline, a figure approached from the gloom and Sharon whirled to face him, a tiny smile on her face. Clearly, she was expecting him. Natasha shifted in anticipation, tensing for reasons she couldn’t explain. Her heart dropped when another figure appeared from Sharon’s right and the girl took a hesitant step back. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello, girl—” a man’s voice, sneering and unpleasant, drifted from the clearing. “Are you lost?” </p><p> </p><p>Sharon raised her chin, her hands curled into fists. “I must be,” she made herself sound calm.</p><p> </p><p>The first man— large and bearded, laughed, pacing closer. His friend, a lean man with a bow slung across his back, smiled and circled around Sharon’s side. The girl took another step back. “Looking for <em> Steve </em>?” he jeered. </p><p> </p><p>The first man looked lithe, predatory, as he inched closer.  “You’ve been poking around here for weeks now,” he said gruffly. He turned to his friend. “Does she look lost to you?” </p><p> </p><p>The man’s friend stood out of Sharon’s field of view now and she seemed to not know where to look. “No,” he said. “She looks like trouble.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha coiled, her eyes fixed on the disaster unfolding before her. “Get out of there,” she murmured. “Get out of there, Sharon.” </p><p> </p><p>As if she heard her, Sharon bolted, taking off toward Natasha, who remained hidden in the treeline. The men were faster and caught up to the girl before she could make the embankment. They laughed as they caught hold of her and Sharon screamed, the sound echoing through the clearing. The first man, large and bearded, grasped her around her waist. </p><p> </p><p>Sharon twisting furiously in his grasp, viciously slamming her elbow into his nose, striking as many times as she could. The man dropped her with a cry, his blood bright on the snow. Sharon scrambled to her feet before he could recover and sprinted as his companion tore after her like a wolf after its prey. Natasha was rooted in place, fraught with indecision. This was the fate of the weak— only the strongest would come out on top of this. None of this was furthering her mission. She knew she should leave, but she couldn’t. Her body was tense, her gaze sharply focused on Sharon as the man descended on her. </p><p> </p><p>The other man lunged, catching her by the cloak and nearly choking her as he violently wrenched her backward. Sharon gave a strangled cry, quickly twisting to free herself until the man was left holding her cloak. She scrambled, crawling until she could get her feet under her and run. In her struggle, she lost her direction and skittered out onto the ice, nearly losing her footing with a yelp. Natasha’s hands were clenched into tight fists, nearly shaking with anticipation. She should turn around and go back to the turf house. She shouldn’t be out here in the first place. </p><p> </p><p>The man threw down  her cloak as his bloody-nosed friend recovered, spitting red into the snow. They both chased after her, sliding behind her as she went farther out to get away. The ice protested, an ear-splitting crack echoed in the small clearing. They all froze at the sound, and Sharon whipped around to look at her pursuers, her breaths visible as she panted wildly. </p><p> </p><p>The first man wiped at the blood streaming down his face; he spun his friend around and tore the bow and quiver from his back, never breaking Sharon’s gaze. Marching out past his friend, the bearded man forced her to step back closer to the middle. The ice cracked, weaker near the centre of the lake. He grinned, spitting blood onto the ice. “Hope you can swim, girl,” he said as he took the bow and aimed an arrow at her. Sharon froze, breathing hard. She didn’t scream or cry, she just stared him down. </p><p> </p><p>He seemed irritated with that and loosed the arrow at her feet, causing her to jump back a step onto thin ice. The lake seemed to come alive under her feet, loud piercing cracks echoed through the clearing. She faltered.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha gritted her teeth. They were going to drown her, make it look like an accident. The man laughed, nocked another arrow and drew his bow. Before she could think about it, she was sprinting for her, deadly focused on the two men. Natasha ran for the lake, nearly making it to the edge of the clearing when someone else beat her to it— Steve bolted from the far treeline as the man drew the bow. Natasha skidded to a halt, and ducked behind a cluster of trees to stay hidden. Steve was wearing his linen armor, his hair tied back in a knot. He looked fierce. Neither man saw him coming before he tackled the first man into the second and the shot went wild into the air. </p><p> </p><p>Armed with a wooden round shield, Steve took it from his back and smashed it into the dazed man’s face as he scrambled beneath him. The man went limp, his mouth bright red. Steve got another three hits in before his friend recovered, withdrawing his axe from his hip to swing wildly at Steve. The axe bit into the wood of Steve’s shield and he used it to wrest the weapon from the man’s grip, flinging the shield back with the axe still stuck in it. The bearded man stumbled and Steve rose and smashed his fist into the man’s jaw, clocking him so hard he stumbled and fell back. The ice heaved beneath them. The bearded man scrabbled, trying to inch away from the weakened centre of the lake where Sharon stood, but Steve recovered his footing and caught him, pounding his face.  The man squirmed and Steve moved to straddle him as he drove his fist into the man’s nose again and again. Steve was nearly primal, his face twisted with rage. </p><p> </p><p>The first man was coming to, crawling away from the ice confusedly. It distracted Steve for a moment, and the man he had beaten got in a cheap hit to his jaw, knocking him back. The bearded man bolted, scrambling toward solid ground. Steve shook himself, rubbing his jaw and turned to give chase, when Sharon called his name. He whipped around to face her, as the bearded man made it to his friend still getting to his feet. Disarmed and beaten bloody, the two men took off, stumbling into the woods and leaving Steve alone with Sharon. They could be going for reinforcements— there might not be that much time before they came back. Natasha backed up toward the treeline, unsure of whether to intervene or not. </p><p> </p><p>With the threat removed, Sharon sagged, unable to put on a brave face anymore. </p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” she said. The ice cracked and groaned beneath her feet, and she sucked in a shuddering breath. </p><p> </p><p>Steve got to his feet slowly, calmly picking up the dropped bow and drawing his knife to cut the string. The bow snapped into a rigid pole.  “It’s alright, Sharon,” he said softly. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she wiped her cheeks, “I’m so sorry. I know you said not to come back here. I shouldn’t have. I should’ve—” She moved and the ice splintered a little and she nearly lost her footing. Sharon sucked in a panicked breath, meeting Steve’s steady gaze. “I can’t move,” she said. She was trying not to cry. “Steve…” </p><p> </p><p>At this temperature, a plunge into the frozen lake might mean the end of her. Natasha gritted her teeth, her body unwilling to move. She was trapped, watching the two of them on the ice with a terrible indecisiveness. If she left now, she could forget this, put this behind her. None of this was her concern. </p><p> </p><p>Steve took a tiny step closer and the ice cracked further. “Don’t come near me,” Sharon pleaded. “It’s not worth us both going under.” She sounded desperate, panicked. Natasha wondered if the girl knew how to swim. </p><p> </p><p>Steve was gentle when he spoke, warm. “Look at me,” he said. When she didn’t, he tried again. “Sharon, look at me.” She looked up and he gave her a little smile. “You were so brave— holding off those men like that. Really strong.” She nodded and he crept a little closer, freezing when the ice cracked loudly.  “I need you to be strong for a little longer. Can you do that for me?” </p><p> </p><p>He hid it well, but Natasha could hear a tremor in his voice— he was scared. She found herself moving closer, her feet carrying her of their own accord. She’d never heard him sound afraid. Sharon nodded and Steve reached out the bow toward her. It was just out of her reach. They both tried again, inching a half step closer. The piercing crack of the ice made Natasha quicken her pace. Sharon grabbed the end of the bow, the ice groaning and splitting loudly beneath her feet. Natasha could see Steve’s split second realization. They were out of time. He jerked Sharon toward him and she yelped when he took hold of her and flung her hard, toward solid ice. She tumbled as the ice split beneath Steve’s feet with a sharp crack and he disappeared into the black freezing depths below. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha tore off her helmet and sprinted, flying past Sharon as she dove onto the ice. She slid onto her belly to the hole where Steve had disappeared. Feverishly, she searched, but there was no sign of him. His armour would be waterlogged, or worse— he had taken an involuntary breath as he went under and was already drowned. Desperate, Natasha shot her arm into the icy water, crying out at the sharp, bitter cold. It was a thousand needles on her skin and she gritted her teeth, searching for him. This couldn’t be how he died.  </p><p> </p><p>She just barely felt the tips of his fingers before he sank out of her reach and she leaned down, submerging herself up to her shoulder to catch him. Steve gripped her tightly, his fingers locking hard into hers and she pulled him up with a cry. Her arm was quickly going numb in the freezing water. She pulled with everything she had, bringing him up enough to grab his arm instead. Steve floundered, panicking, and she struggled, sliding and pulling him up until he broke the surface with a ragged gasp. Natasha hauled him up so his arms stayed about the ice. He was shivering, his eyes wide with terror as he gripped her hard, clinging to her tunic. His linen armor weighed him down and he struggled to move. She took his hand, and he held it so tightly it hurt. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve got you,” she assured him. His breaths were shaky gasps, his teeth chattering as he held her with everything he had. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t swim,” he said. She’d never heard him sound so frightened. “Natasha—”</p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t afford to waste time. He had to get out of the water before he froze to death. She met his eyes, leaning in close. “I’m not letting go, Steve.” He shivered, watching her with wide eyes. “I’ve got you. Do you understand?” </p><p> </p><p>He nodded and she got to work. She pulled him, but the ice gave way as he tried to climb out. Natasha slid back on her belly, pulling him as she went. Steve struggled, becoming exhausted. Her muscles ached and burned with effort, her own body succumbing to the freezing water pooling under her body. If he didn’t get out now, then she’d be forced to watch him become exhausted, cold, weak, until he couldn’t get out at all. Natasha held him tighter, her teeth gritted in determination, and pulled with everything she had as Steve scrambled  and kicked until he was out enough for her to grab the belt around his waist and pull. It took them a few more minutes to drag him out onto the ice before they both collapsed. He lay shivering and wet, his breathing wild and erratic as they both paused for a moment on the frozen lake. Natasha stared at the darkening sky from the flat of her back, her breaths swirling in little puffs into the air. She didn’t want to think about it, but she couldn’t help it— if she had been even a second later, he would’ve drowned. </p><p> </p><p>She pushed that thought aside with an angry sigh and flipped herself over to sit up. Steve looked shaken, his skin ghostly pale. He was out of the water, but Natasha knew he was now at risk of freezing to death. Gently she cupped his face and made him look at her. </p><p> </p><p>“We have to move,” she said. Her words didn’t seem to register at first. “Steve,” she said gently. Steve met her eyes and nodded, his body trembling as she helped him to move from the ice and back to the shore. </p><p> </p><p>Sharon was sitting on the bank, watching with her arms tightly hugged around her body. She looked distraught— but it was smart of her to stay put. It might’ve sent them all in if she had tried to help. “Is he alright?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve shivered, collapsing on the shore, unable to answer. He was almost in shock. He looked to Natasha as well as if hoping she’d have the answer. </p><p> </p><p>She knelt by his side, trying to pull him up to sit. She couldn’t let him lie down yet. “He’s going to be,” she made herself say. </p><p> </p><p>Sharon broke down then, burying her face into her hands. Natasha didn’t know where the gentleness came from, but she rested her hand on the girl’s head and Sharon leaned forward and buried her face into Natasha’s shoulder with a sob. Natasha felt strange sandwiched between the two of them; Steve’s grip around her waist tightened, his head nearly against her other shoulder in a strange group embrace. For a moment, she allowed herself to lean on them, to grip Steve a little more tightly, to rest her cheek on Sharon’s head. She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing a steadying breath. They didn’t have time for this— those men might return with others, assuming Steve hadn’t died of shock before then.</p><p> </p><p>“Will you be alright, Sharon?” she asked, her hand hovering above her back. </p><p> </p><p>The girl nodded miserably and Natasha patted her in awkward reassurance. In response, she felt Sharon’s hand curl gratefully into her tunic. A strange warmth exploded through her and she froze, her hand on Sharon’s back. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” the girl said to Natasha. She looked up at her with a little smile and Natasha’s lips parted in surprise. What was this feeling? Sharon looked at Steve and smiled weakly. “You saved me,” she said.</p><p> </p><p>He nodded, shivering hard. She could feel him flag against her and she shook herself and struggled to hold him upright. Natasha wasn’t quite sure he was totally aware of what was going on anymore.</p><p> </p><p>She untangled herself from their embrace, searching for Sharon’s discarded cloak. Steve sagged, shivering hard. “Help me get his armour off,” she instructed as she spotted the cloak in a rumpled heap. Natasha moved to get it, speaking over her shoulder. “We need to keep him as warm as we can.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha retrieved the cloak, taking a quick scan of the treeline for any sign of the attacker’s return. There was nothing, and she turned to find Sharon dutifully undoing the clasps of Steve’s armour. She knelt by his side again to assist, undoing the buckles fastening the padded jacket, before they peeled it from him. It was all Steve could do to shrug out of the jacketed armour. She immediately wrapped the cloak around his shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>“We need to keep him moving,” Natasha said. “Can you help me carry him?” Sharon nodded again, wiping away her tears on her shoulder. Her expression was serious. She seemed like a good person to have around in a crisis. “Put your arm under his like this.” Natasha demonstrated, pulling Steve’s arm over her shoulder and bracing him around his back.  Sharon did as she was instructed, helping to shoulder his weight. </p><p> </p><p>They all stood, Steve shaky and exhausted as they held him upright. He seemed a little disoriented, his lips beginning to turn blue in the dimming light. Her own damp tunic was beginning to chill her through. Natasha squeezed him and he looked at her. “I need you to keep going,” she said sternly. “You understand me?” </p><p> </p><p>He nodded, his eyes fixed on hers. Together, the three of them moved. It was a long, hard walk back to the village— Sharon and Natasha pressed closely against Steve, giving him whatever heat they could. As they went Steve grew weaker and weaker, his movements becoming stiff and uncoordinated. Darkness began to fall, and their pace wasn’t near quick enough. The fog thickened, blanketing the ground as they went. The only small mercy they received was that their pursuers never returned. Natasha couldn’t be grateful— Steve was freezing to death in her arms. Her tunic was stiff and frosted over and it wouldn’t be long before she was in the same state of frozen shock that he was in. It made her angry and she surged onward, unrelenting. By the time they neared the village, it was pitch dark and Natasha had to rely on her memory of the terrain to carry them the rest of the way. When the torchlight of the village was in sight, Sharon heaved a shaky sigh of relief. She likely thought they wouldn’t make it and Natasha couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t entirely convinced either. </p><p> </p><p>They were so close. </p><p> </p><p>Steve almost buckled between them and Natasha hauled him to his feet, forcing him to keep going. </p><p> </p><p>He moaned in protest, shaking so hard she and Sharon struggled to carry him. At least he still shivered, that was an encouraging sign. “You can’t rest yet,” she said, her eyes fixed on her cabin. Sharon helped drag him the rest of the way.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha had to enter through the window— the door was still locked. She unlatched it, but Steve had collapsed and Sharon couldn’t get him to move. She panted, her expression pained. The poor girl looked tired. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you need to get back?” Natasha asked as she knelt by Steve’s side to slide her arm around his back. Her family must be worried. Sharon nodded numbly.  “Then, go—” It came out more harshly than she intended. Natasha made herself smile. “I couldn’t have brought him without you,” she said. She meant it. If Sharon hadn’t stayed, Steve would be long dead. “I can look after him now. He’ll be safe, I promise.” </p><p> </p><p>Sharon wiped her brow and nodded, relieved. “Thank you, Natasha,” she said. The warmth returned and Natasha quickly suppressed it as she coaxed Steve back onto his feet. He leaned heavily against her, shivering violently. “Can I check on you both later?” </p><p> </p><p>It would give Natasha peace of mind to know she was safe, too. “Please do,” she said as she kicked the door open. “Take care, Sharon—” she said as the girl left. “and I don’t need to tell you not to speak of this to anyone.” </p><p> </p><p>Sharon gave her a weak little smile and held her finger to her lips with a nod. That was all the reassurance Natasha needed and she turned and stumbled into the room with Steve. He was quiet, shaking, barely staying on his feet when she let him go. Immediately, she set to work grabbing blankets, wool shifts, shawls and mantles, and whatever else she could find. She threw them all on the floor at Steve’s feet with a frustrated glance then quickly went to the hearth to feed several logs into the small fire to build it bigger. Steve nearly threatened to shake himself to pieces, he shivered so hard. </p><p> </p><p>His lips were blue, his face and fingers a shade of dangerous white, his hair, tunic and pants stiff with frost. But despite this, he looked at her with a hint of a smile. There was a spark in his eyes that Natasha didn’t like. She scowled and stood to gather more blankets. “You’ll need to take those clothes off,” she said as she pulled another blanket from the bed, doing her best to suppress her anger with him. </p><p> </p><p>Steve nodded and brought his stiff, trembling fingers to the buckle of his waist belt, but lacked the dexterity to work it loose. He shook violently, his jaw squeezed shut to keep his teeth from chattering. Natasha sighed and strode over to him, shoving his hands out of the way to undo his belt for him. She quickly pulled it free and before he could say anything, she began undoing the clasp of his cloak. It was stiff, frozen to the touch. Natasha glowered, tearing at the iced over buckle. This wasn’t going quickly enough. A dangerous chill radiated from him in the growing warmth of the cabin and her anger boiled over as everything finally caught up with her. He had nearly gotten himself killed. </p><p> </p><p>“What were you thinking?!” Her voice was a sharp, angry cry in the small room as she met his surprised gaze. Steve just shivered silently as she frowned at her outburst and leveled her angry stare at him. He had no answer for her. “You’re an idiot,” she said tersely as she finally unbuckled the clasp across his chest. Steve tried to help, his clumsy, uncoordinated hands bumped hers and she swatted him away. “A stupid,” she tore the cloak open, “<em> fucking </em> ,” she furiously stripped the stiff fabric from his shoulders, ignoring his suprised cry to whirl around and find the blankets she had gotten out, “ <em> idiot </em>!” Natasha punctuated the last word by stooping and throwing a blanket at his face. </p><p> </p><p>Steve seemed surprised at her outburst, standing numbly in the little space of her cabin. He was disoriented, confused, and Natasha turned away to pull the furs and blankets Yelena slept on in front of the fire. She had been like this before— so cold it nearly killed her. She remembered how unreal everything was, how confusing. Steve was close to shock, his body close to shutting down. If she didn’t warm him up soon, he would die. Natasha drew a steadying breath, her hands curling into the soft fur of the animal skin she had gotten out. As a girl, she’d seen it happen enough times to know what that looked like and she never wanted to see it again if she could help it. Natasha pursed her lips, her anger cooling. She needed to keep her head about this. He didn’t need loud outbursts and harsh movements. </p><p> </p><p>With a frustrated sigh, Natasha turned to find Steve was fumbling clumsily with his tunic, barely able to lift the hem over his stomach. She stood and gently took him by the arm. “Here,” Natasha said. “Let me.” He met her gaze, his eyes unfocused. She wasn’t sure he quite knew what was happening and she gave him a reassuring squeeze.  </p><p> </p><p>Natasha took hold of his tunic, gently lifting the hem. “Lift your arms, Steve,” she instructed. Steve grunted a little and weakly raised his arms to assist as she drew it up over his stomach. Natasha’s knuckles grazed over his lean body and she frowned at how chilled his skin was. She pulled the tunic over his head and Steve gave her a little half smile like he was about to say something, but was shivering too hard to speak. It was a waste of his energy anyway. </p><p> </p><p>She immediately replaced his tunic with a blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders before she hooked her fingers into his waistband to undo the tie of his pants for him. Steve flinched, his gaze drifting to her hands, gently grasped her wrist in uncertainty. His stiff, frozen fingers sent another wave of anger through her, but she suppressed it and undid the frosted-over knot and worked the fabric loose before Steve seemed to understand what she was trying to do and took over. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha turned away with a sigh, stripping her own tunic and breeches while Steve silently focused on undressing.  Her arm was soaked and freezing and she picked out a wool shift to wear instead, slipping it over her head before rotating her arm and rubbing some warmth back into it. When she turned back around Steve had gingerly wrapped the blanket around himself and stepped out of the rest of his soaked clothes.  </p><p> </p><p>Natasha picked his wet tunic up off the floor with simmering anger and hung it over the chair. When she turned back to him, he seemed like he could barely keep himself on his feet, but he still had the nerve to smirk at her, his eyes fiery and full of that same determined spark. Natasha’s eyes narrowed dangerously in response. He was smug. He looked at her like he had proven a point, like he was <em> right. </em> She bristled.</p><p> </p><p>“I…  s-saw you,” he barely managed as he shivered. “You ran to…  save her.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha flushed in surprise and irritation as she froze under his observation. “So what if I did?” she said coolly, “I’m not the one who fell through in the end.” </p><p> </p><p>He chuckled softly, his blue lips pulling into a tiny smile. “Y’re not as h-hardened as you claim t’be,” he said. His grip weakened and the blanket slipped from his shoulder. He had remembered what she said during their first meeting. Had he been studying her this whole time, looking for moments to prove her wrong? Was he actively searching for goodness in her? She eyed him angrily, upset he was so intent on seeing the good in her. She had almost compromised her mission by running out there like that. She wasn’t good. Her momentary lapse in resolve didn’t prove anything. Maybe she wasn’t as hardened as she had first claimed, but she soon would be when she finally became a true Widow. </p><p> </p><p>It was silent in the room, save for the crackling of the fire and Steve’s chattering teeth. She didn’t want to get into this with him now. It was no use arguing with a frozen fool. Steve sighed, his body a shaking wreck. Natasha could see he was fading fast and she silently patted the fur rug, motioning him to sit by the fire. He made his way over to her and collapsed to the floor in a heap. He trembled, his muscles flagging as he struggled to push himself to sit, but he couldn’t. Natasha sighed and watched him struggle for a moment before she pulled the blanket up around his shoulders again. He never once asked her for help, never complained or seemed to regret that his choice brought him to this— shivering, naked and weak on her floor. </p><p> </p><p>If she hadn’t helped him, he might’ve just stayed in his wet clothes, he might’ve sat to rest and never woken up. It made her furious. Was his life really worth so little to him? But that didn’t seem to bother him; he never seemed to think about what would happen to him. Or worse, he knew, but he still did it anyway. “You seem proud to think I’m like you,” she said. “But one day, your stupid ideals will get you killed.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve lay his head on the rug with a sigh, shaking hard. His eyes seemed to become distant as he watched the fire, but that spark of determination never left them. “So be it,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha frowned and studied her hands as Steve resumed his losing battle to sit in front of the fire. How could he say that so easily? Everything she did in the service of the Widows taught her that life was a commodity. Living and dying could be fixed for a price. Only the strongest and most ruthless survived while the rest of them were left to fight it out in the swirling crush of chaos and turmoil. But Steve believed so much in the goodness of others, in justice, in hope. And he was willing to die for it. It made her ashamed, inadequate. </p><p> </p><p>Steve collapsed again, the blanket slipping to his waist. He was still a ghostly white, his body trembling hard as he shivered and panted. Natasha huffed and pushed herself to stand and retrieve the blankets and clothing she had thrown to the floor. She placed the pile by the rug and retrieved one of her thick wool shifts for him to wear. He was maybe a little more broad-shouldered than she was, but it  would stretch to fit him. She went to Steve’s side and grasped his arm to help him to his knees. His skin was still freezing and it renewed the spark of anger in her over this whole stupid scenario. He looked up at her, eyes wide, jaw set proudly as if he didn’t want her help. But he didn’t say anything as she roughly slipped the garment over his head and helped his arms through the sleeves. </p><p> </p><p>He shivered hard and Natasha moved his wet hair from his neck, still frozen stiff with ice in the knot keeping it from his face. She placed her hand on the back of his chilled neck, her fingers gently smoothing over the goosebumps texturing his skin. Steve shuddered and she guided him to bow his head a little as she began to undo his hair from its knot so it could dry. She slid her hand from his neck over the back of his head to hold him still, her fingers grazing the short bristles of his shaved hair. She found she liked the feel of it under her fingers and she absently stroked her thumb in little paths across his head as she worked. His hair was growing back in— he’d have to shave it again soon. Steve weakly buried his head against her leg to rest when he became too tired to keep himself upright. He shivered and trembled, his fingers curled loosely in the hem of her shift. Natasha tugged the frozen cord binding his hair and finally pulled it from his head. </p><p> </p><p>“Ow,” he complained as she roughly freed and finger-combed his stiffened hair. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, shut up,” she said as she pulled the blanket up over his neck to keep his hair off of it. “If you don’t like it, don’t fall through the ice next time.” She could feel the muscles of his face pull into a smile against her leg.</p><p> </p><p>“Next time?” he asked against her legs. </p><p> </p><p>She frowned and pulled the blanket around his arms. “Yes,” she said angrily, “yes, unless you’ve learned not to throw yourself into these no-win scenarios after this.” Steve just laughed through his chattering teeth and Natasha sighed, frustrated. His ideals really would be the end of him. She slid her hand back down his neck to feel his temperature. Her fingers slipped under the layers of blankets and clothes to glide down his back between his shoulder blades. He sucked in a breath and arched a little at her touch and fell silent again.  It worried her that he wasn’t warming up. He was still freezing and she could still feel the chill radiate from his skin. Natasha sighed and knelt to sit with him in front of the fire as he shook, his eyes filled with uncertainty. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re still freezing,” she said softly.</p><p> </p><p>He looked like he might have a smarmy response, something to reassure her that he was fine, but Natasha didn’t let him say it. She pulled him into her, gathering him close to her body to rub his chilled skin and tuck the blanket around him more securely.</p><p>
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</p><p>Steve squirmed, obviously uncomfortable, his hands curling hesitantly around her waist. “What’re you doing?” he asked, his chin hovering over her shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha snorted and rolled her eyes, reaching behind him to grab another blanket and wrap it around the both of them. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t die of shock,” she said, her lips close to his ear. Steve looked like he might object and Natasha held him closer. “Stop making such a fuss— it’s this or freezing to death.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve fell silent and she adjusted them both so that Steve sat between her legs, his back resting against her body with her arms circled around his chest. Reluctantly, he leaned his head back onto her shoulder and his feet stretched out by the roaring fire. She couldn’t see his expression from this position and was grateful for it. There should be no reason why she was doing this— she couldn’t explain what made her act, but she couldn’t just let him die, even if he made her so angry with him. He was a stupid idealist, but he was good, truly good. He protected others with everything he had, she couldn’t just let him die. She couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>Steve shivered against her and she tucked them in a little tighter, watching the blazing fire in silence. He seized, his muscles coiled so tightly as he shivered, a soft noise escaping from him. She could feel how cold he still was through the layers of wool and continued trying to rub some warmth into his body, wrapping herself tightly around him. </p><p> </p><p>It was hours before he stopped shaking so hard. Gradually, between the warmth of fire and her body, he began to warm up, and he sagged against her, totally exhausted. Steve turned his head to the side, the short hairs of his shaved head tickling her collarbone, his breath warm on her chest as he began to breathe more evenly. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, her aggressive attempts to warm him up becoming slow, soothing strokes over his chest instead. </p><p> </p><p>Every now and then Steve shuddered and his teeth chattered and Natasha would redouble her efforts to feed him some of her warmth by holding him closer and re-tucking the blankets. Steve sighed softly, squirming a little as he adjusted himself to sit more comfortably. His fingers brushed over the back of her hand as he moved and Natasha startled at how cold they still were. She frowned and turned her head to speak quietly in his ear. </p><p> </p><p>“Give me your hand,” she said. Steve hummed a little, slipping in and out of exhausted sleep.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” he asked. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha just moved to find it under the blankets and gently curled his hand into hers. His fingers were stiff and cold as ice and she frowned, bringing them up under the covers and tucking her chin into the blankets. Steve shifted to his side to give her better access and she brought her lips just shy of his loosely curled knuckles and began to warm them with her breath. Natasha could feel his stare as he lay his head on her shoulder, but she stayed focused on her task. She didn’t want to see his expression or know what he thought of all this, she just rubbed her thumb over his cold fingers and let the hot gust of her breath ghost over them. Steve curled into her a little, his forehead nearly on her neck as he sagged limply against her in thoughtful silence. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha warmed his fingers until she was satisfied he wouldn’t lose them to frostbite and gently released his hand and fumbled to warm the other. She made the mistake of shifting to look at him, to find that his eyes were half open, lashes cutting soft, dark curves over his serene expression. His lips were parted softly and Natasha turned away with a frown as she began to warm his other hand. She breathed and watched the fire, her heart beating fast in her chest. His expression was reverent, grateful. She wished she hadn’t seen it, but now it was seared into her memory like a brand that heated her through. She sighed and Steve curled his thumb weakly to stroke over hers. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha sat with him, warming his hand and watching the fire until her eyes were dry and the skin of her cheeks felt brittle and overheated. The flames popped and sparked as they slowly consumed the wood in a steady flickering glow. When she was done, she placed Steve’s hand in his lap. He was limp, sleeping on her shoulder, and Natasha sighed and rested her cheek tiredly on the top of his head. It was late now, and she was exhausted. </p><p> </p><p>She frowned and watched the glowing yellow and orange in the hearth as it became a low flame. What was she doing? This wasn’t her mission. It was far from it. But she felt saving Steve was a service somehow. It was a small goodness she could allow herself to make. Steve nuzzled against her in his sleep, his nose tucked into the hollow of her throat. Slowly, Natasha traced her fingers over his back, thoughtfully outlining his ribs through the thin wool of her shift as she watched the fire die down. </p><p> </p><p>He was finally warm now, all traces of the deadly chill were gone. His cheek was flushed against her clavicle, overheated with the skin to skin contact and his breath trapped beneath the wool of the blanket tucked over them. Natasha could not help but feel relieved. He was safe, and it was time for her to rest. Gently, she reached up to clasp the back of his neck to move him and Steve inhaled deeply and his eyes slid open a little when she shifted away from him. He made a small, sleepy sound as Natasha guided him to lie back onto the soft bed of the fire-warmed fur and blankets. Steve sank back in a dreamy haze and she gathered the blankets around his shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>As she turned to leave, he dazedly reached for her, grasping her arm in confusion. His thumb stroked over the crook of her arm and Natasha couldn’t say what possessed her, but she smoothed her hand over his cheek, thumb tracing the ridge of his brow with a soft, reassuring smile. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut again. Carefully, Natasha tucked the blankets around him and stood to stoke the fire and add another log on before she turned and retrieved his sodden clothes from the floor to hang them by the fire. In the soft warm glow, Steve slept, his chest rising and falling slowly as he lay curled on his side. She was comforted to see it, relieved at how peaceful he looked. Satisfied, Natasha turned away, and collapsed onto her own bed to drift off to sleep.</p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wow another chapter so soon! Lucky you! Big thank you to my beta reader (I definitely didn't think it would be this long lol). Insert your capsicle references here 🥶. Sharon Carter is a returning character! Who would've thought? </p><p>Also wow, I can't believe we're finally here! The fireside warming scene was one of the first things I wrote and I have been so excited to post it.  If you've been patiently waiting for the two mains to touch more, there you go. </p><p>If you enjoyed this chapter, drop me a comment! </p><p>New chapter probably early next week (we shall see).</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Closer</h2></a>
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    <p>Natasha awoke to when she heard movement in the room. She tensed, instantly coming to awareness as she readied herself to strike, but outwardly, she just rolled over, feigning sleep as she subtly found the source of the sound. Steve stood watching the fire, the faint glow illuminating the strong profile of his face as he adjusted his pants around his hips. He was shirtless and barefoot, his honey-coloured hair loose around his shoulders from when she untied it the night before. There was a strange dissonance, seeing him standing in her room like this. It was as if he was entering her world, becoming more closely entangled in her life. She wasn’t sure she liked it. It filled her with unease, nervous apprehension. She studied him quietly, pushing that notion aside. </p><p> </p><p>He appeared deep in thought, not noticing she was awake. She didn’t really look at him yesterday in her anger and haste to keep him alive, but now she was surprised to find he was stronger than he appeared. He was broad shouldered, arms corded with muscle, body lean and built for speed and strength. He looked agile, capable. That only made sense, she supposed. Storm Bringer’s army had no place for someone who couldn’t pull their own weight. When she first saw him fight, he had held his own against three men who had stood head and shoulders above him. Seeing him fight yesterday seemed to confirm her suspicions. He was vicious, unrelenting. Her eyes drifted down his body. She had misjudged him, underestimated him. As he reached for his tunic hanging on the chair, Steve turned his back to her and her eyes widened in surprise. He was covered in tattoos.</p><p> </p><p>A large tree was etched on his upper back. It started just below his neck; the trunk stretching down his spine, branches spreading across his shoulder blades. The leaves were made up of infinite knots, never ending swirls that seemed to have no beginning or end. Its design didn’t seem Northmen, she noted. </p><p> </p><p>Beneath the branches of the tree were two small circular patterns made of rigid lines. The one on his right shoulder had a ring of runes in a circle around it. Natasha recognized those ones as Northmen symbols. Her eyes followed the braided pattern of the trunk down his spine before she traced branching into roots made of the same never ending knots.  Just below was a large, concentric circle of runes covering his lower back that disappeared into the waistband of his pants. Either side of his spine had small lines of faded runes. </p><p> </p><p>“They’re for healing,” his voice startled her out of her thoughts and Natasha sat up, embarrassed to be caught openly staring at him. </p><p> </p><p>Steve glanced at her over his shoulder as he picked up his tunic and gave it a shake. He frowned and flipped it over, letting it hang over the back of the chair Natasha had pulled closer to the hearth last night. It must not be dry yet. When he turned to face her, he gave her a fleeting smile, his expression guarded and indiscernible. He seemed a little out of sorts and Natasha couldn’t help but wonder if any remnants of the deadly chill still lingered. Worry lanced through her, spurring her to swing her legs out of bed. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet. </p><p> </p><p>But Steve didn’t notice her concern, instead busying himself with trying to fix his hair. </p><p>He reached up to sweep the hair from the nape of his neck and drew it into a ponytail, darting her a quick glance. Her expression must’ve given away her confusion because he elaborated, “I was often sick as a child,” he said, searching for his hair tie. “When I was very young fever almost killed me.” Steve located the cord and began to tie his hair off with clumsy fingers, frowning in frustration. “My mother did these when nothing else seemed to work.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha watched the floor rather than him. “She was a healer?” </p><p> </p><p>“Aye, she was.” He seemed a little withdrawn, introspective to think of his mother. This was the most she had heard him speak of her and she had the sense that it was hard for him to do so. He paused, his expression unreadable and he gave up on trying to tie his hair. “I won’t bore you with the details.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha slipped out of bed to come up behind him. Right now, her only thoughts were of him. Her mission was the furthest thing from her mind. She gave him space to leave the topic if he wanted. “Do you mind?” She said, gesturing to his body. “I’d feel better if I took your temperature.”</p><p> </p><p>He glanced at her for a moment, eyes searching for something she wasn’t sure she had. “No,” he said. “I don’t mind.”</p><p> </p><p>Gently, Natasha took a half step closer and placed her hand on his back. Relief washed over her to feel the heat of him. Bodies were merely tools, her training reminded her, but this felt different. His skin was smooth, warm. She could feel the expansion and contraction of his breath, the steady beat of his heart, the flex of muscle beneath skin when he moved. He felt alive beneath her hand. She let out a little breath. After everything last night, it felt like release. It took everything she had not to lean into him.</p><p> </p><p>He was safe. </p><p> </p><p>The notion seemed to settle over them both. Steve let out a shaky sigh, his hand pausing over his heart. He had been so close to death last night. For a moment, they both just stood in silence, just feeling the other’s presence. There was an undefinable comfort in feeling this connection, this closeness. Last night she had gone into survival mode, shut herself off from everything that didn’t help them get through, but that steady calm was gone now and she was left to admit how scared she had been. Natasha closed her eyes and just listened to him breathe. </p><p> </p><p>They were quiet for a long time, her fingers unconsciously brushing the ink on his skin. When Steve finally spoke, it startled her and her eyes fluttered open. “I’ve never seen what they look like,” he said. She could feel his voice through his back, a deep vibration under her fingers. It took her a moment to realize he meant his tattoos. He still faced away from her, his response measured, thoughtful. The grief in his tone pulled at a part of her she had worked so hard to bury and her gaze drifted to her hand.</p><p> </p><p>“It hurt when she first drew them, hurt for days after. That memory is the only certainty I have that they’re real.” He paused, collecting his thoughts a little. He seemed to try and see the bright side of it. “I can’t feel them anymore, but I know they’re there.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha studied the work beneath her hand. Her eyes traced the swirls, the braids and lines again. Such careful, intricate lines were clearly filled with a desire to protect, to heal, and all he could remember of them was a distant memory of pain. That didn’t feel right. She glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was distant, elsewhere. </p><p> </p><p>Slowly, Natasha began to trace the infinite knots, the circles and sharp lines, following their shapes and edges across his back. She wasn’t sure why, she couldn’t understand any of this anymore, but she wanted to give him reassurance. Steve glanced over his shoulder briefly, his look questioning, but he fell silent as he realized what she was doing. He bowed his head slightly, his eyes drifting closed as she let him feel the marks on his skin. Natasha was careful, measured. She started at the highest knot and began to work her way down. </p><p> </p><p>“She was an artist,” she remarked, her index and middle fingers sweeping over the symbols on his spine. She brushed the roots of the tree, tracing the swirl of knots on his mid-back. “These are beautiful.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve laughed a little and nodded, his hands curled loosely in the fabric of his pants. “They’re all I have left of her.”</p><p> </p><p>As she traced the circle on his lower back, Natasha paused, her hands falling still on his skin. She felt soft, open in a way she couldn’t explain. She said what she was thinking. “There’s so much love in these.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve was silent, hesitating. It was clear that this was deeply personal and he was considering whether to share this with her. Natasha frowned at her own sentiment and withdrew her hands, her gaze faltering. She was beginning to understand what it meant to be close with someone, to have intimacy and trust in another. There were no caveats, no fear of consequences. She could tell him what she felt and he would listen. He could share moments with her, tell her anything about himself and she <em> wanted </em>to hear it. It made her hollow to know he trusted her like this. She’d never reciprocate. What could she tell him in return? He deserved better than lies.</p><p> </p><p>Steve was quiet, introspective before he shifted to finger the skin just above his right hip, tracing over the faded mark there as if by memory. “This one was first,” he said. It was the most faded runic inscription. The ink was a washed-out blue, the symbols done in a sketchy script as though he couldn’t sit still while they were etched into him. He must’ve been very young for them to have faded so much. “When I started to improve, she added another.” He smiled a little. “The rest took years to complete. Every winter she added another. I think she wanted to never see me like that again.” He chuckled softly at the memory, his mother’s words clear in his mind. “‘Die of something else, Stevie’, she used to say. ‘Something more creative than fever’.” His smile faded. “She didn’t want me to die there, I think. Not as a thrall.”  </p><p> </p><p>Natasha swallowed. What would it be like to be loved so fiercely? To be protected, cared for, thought of? Her face flushed with heat to even consider it. Truthfully, she was envious, jealous of him. It was foolish— his life had been so clearly marked by suffering, by tragedy, but he had been loved so dearly. She could feel it in the lines inked on his skin, hear it in the way he spoke, see it in the gentle look in his eyes, his broken smile. He had been made by it, turned into the man he was because of it. Natasha could only wish she had been loved like that. It was the kind of thing that defined a person, shaped them into somebody worthy of receiving love, of giving it in return. There was a power in that, she realized, that the Red Room could never give. To love fiercely, completely. To protect others, build a life from the ground up, to feel safe, protected in return. It hurt more than she could bear. She didn’t want to retread this idea, it only left her empty. Nobody wanted her. She wasn’t meant for anything, she wasn’t deserving of it. She wasn’t capable of giving love, of receiving it. But her heart ached. </p><p> </p><p>Steve sighed and she blinked hard, abandoning her line of thinking. He touched the knot inked just below his neck with practiced fingers. He seemed to know exactly where it was. “This was the last one she gave,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>“Yggdrasil?” Natasha asked, endeavouring to keep the conversation light. </p><p> </p><p>Steve massaged his neck. “She called it ‘Crann Bethadh’. Though maybe it’s a bit similar. A life tree, a sacred symbol. ” </p><p> </p><p>She frowned to hear the foreign words. She knew many languages, but not that one. The words sounded similar to the song he had once sang in the woods and she wondered if it was his mother’s tongue as well. She turned away to busy herself with getting dressed. “Was she not a Northwoman?” she asked over her shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>Steve paused, turning his gaze to the cord in his fingers as he twirled it thoughtfully. “No,” he said softly. “She was stolen from a land across the sea— a place so green, so beautiful.” He smiled sadly to think of it. “She used to tell me about it before bed. Promise me she’d take me when we were free. This place was never home to her.”  </p><p> </p><p>Natasha pulled on a simple wool dress over her shift. Something in his tone filled her with sorrow. “I’m sorry, Steve,” she said. She wasn’t sure what for. </p><p> </p><p>He inhaled, straightening a little as he resumed trying to tie back his hair. “She’s gone,” he said. “Died years ago— of fever actually. In the end, I couldn’t give her the same freedom she gave me. She died a thrall.” He looked at the cord between his fingers, his expression bitter. “I couldn’t take her home.” </p><p> </p><p>His voice was laced with an edge of anger that she felt to her core. Her heart hurt for him. She couldn’t understand what it was like to lose someone like that, and as a result, had no idea what to say to him. But Steve didn’t seem to want reassurance. He exhaled sharply, anger simmering in his eyes. “What kind of son...” he shook his head in disgust. “She must’ve been disappointed,” he said, furiously twisting his hair into a knot and pulling it up to wrap the cord around it.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s lips parted, her brow furrowed deeply. That couldn’t be true. Not after seeing what his mother had done to save her son. Not when Steve had told her his mother bought his freedom for him. Steve tried in vain to wrap the cord around his locks, but couldn’t tie it. He let out a string of curses under his breath in both languages he knew. Natasha watched him for a moment. She had the sense that it might not matter what she said to him now anyway. Even if she had the perfect words of comfort, he was too angry to hear her. He believed he had let his mother down and it troubled her that he thought that. Natasha grew tired of watching him struggle with his hair. She needed a job. </p><p> </p><p>“Let me,” she said, gesturing to his hair. </p><p> </p><p>He paused, the cord back between his teeth, his eyes hard. He looked like he might argue, so she narrowed her eyes and whipped his tunic from the back of the chair he had hung it on. It was mostly dry now and she shook it out and tossed it at him. He let go of his hair to catch it, his jaw set painfully tight. Natasha grabbed the chair and turned it to face him. “Sit,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>She didn’t look to see if he did, she just turned to withdraw her comb from her trunk. Everything was in disarray from her frenzied effort to keep him warm last night and it took her a moment to find it. When she turned back around, Steve drew his tunic over his head and reluctantly sat down. Silently, Natasha came up behind him again. She didn’t wait for an invitation— he’d never give it, not while he was upset— and delved her hands into his hair, untangling it with her fingers before she set her comb to it. </p><p> </p><p>Steve sat up straight, his hands resting on his knees as Natasha pulled her comb through his fine hair, focusing on the ends first before working her way up. He was quiet as she worked. They both were. She could feel him stew in his anger, but imagined brushing it away with each pass of her comb through his hair. It was fine, wavy. It felt good to run her hands through it, to touch it and work with it. Reluctantly, Steve began to relax and that was when Natasha spoke again. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you really believe that?” she asked softly. “Do you believe she was disappointed in you?” He had calmed down a bit, but when she spoke, the muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched it tightly. His fingers dug into his knees. </p><p> </p><p>“How could she not be? She died in servitude while her son walked free.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha frowned, her comb paused in his honeyed locks. “Maybe I’m wrong,” she said softly, “but I think she’d truly be disappointed that you thought of it like that.” He deflated, his posture sagging and Natasha silently resumed combing his hair in even strokes until it was glossy and soft in her hands. She didn’t know where that had come from. She chewed her lip for a moment, hands paused in his hair. “Sorry, if I overstepped,” she amended. “I didn’t know her.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve was quiet for a moment. “I wish she could’ve met you,” he said. “I think she would’ve liked you.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha very much doubted that, but the sentiment made her smile a little. Setting the comb down, Natasha swept his hair back, thumb grazing over the back of his neck as she gathered it in her hands. Steve shifted, his head turning slightly to look at her and Natasha smirked and slid her fingers over his jaw to guide him to look forward again. </p><p> </p><p>“Keep still,” she chided. </p><p> </p><p>Steve hummed in acknowledgement, but Natasha couldn’t help but notice the goosebumps creeping across his skin where she touched him. She chuckled softly and sectioned off his blonde locks to twist it into a small braid. Deftly she weaved the stands together, fingers sweeping across his scalp as she worked down his head. She finished off the first braid and sectioned off the other side to match. She worked methodically, carefully as she set his hair in a more ornate style— two smaller braids twining into one larger. She wrapped the cord around his hair halfway down his head and let the remainder flow freely in a ponytail. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you.” His words were like a knife through the silence between them. Natasha’s fingers paused momentarily as she knotted the cord around his hair. Steve exhaled, his gaze fixed on the fire, fingers toying with the edge of his tunic. “For everything. For saving me, and Sharon…  For what you did last night, and every time before that.” He was thoughtful as he spoke, his voice soft and measured. After a brief pause, he seemed to come to a conclusion. “You’re a good person, Natasha,” he said. “You have a kind heart.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha froze at his words, heat flushing her cheeks in an unwelcome rush. She had been accused of many things, called many things, but never <em> good,</em> never <em> kindhearted </em>. He had been searching for those qualities in her yesterday, but now he openly accused her of kindness. Her lips parted in surprise as she stared at the back of Steve’s head. She felt herself drawn toward him in a way she had never experienced before. None of the Widows had much advice on what she was experiencing, they buried their feelings, cut their hearts out, murdered kind men like Steve. They didn’t do what she was doing—braiding hair, tending wounds, saving people’s lives. She was out of her element, soft, tender. It was ridiculous, totally amateur. She had lived so long under the Widows, adopted so many roles and personalities that she didn’t believe she truly had one of her own anymore. She was all things to all people, fluid, changeable. When it came down to it, she was nothing. Empty. He didn’t know her, not really.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha finished tying off his hair and turned away. “You should go,” she said. “I’m supposed to be preparing for marriage.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve turned to look at her, but she couldn’t make herself meet his eyes. He was so kind, so gentle and good, and he believed she was those things as well. The notion made heat blossom through her in a horrible rush. She knew she had felt it the day he had made her laugh— when she was with him, he made her feel like she <em> was </em> something, like she wasn’t an empty shell. He made her believe that she was kind, maybe she was good. He brought that out of her, breathing life into parts of her she thought were long dead. It was all lies. Truly, she knew she was a parasite, feeding off of his kindness, willing herself to be better. </p><p> </p><p>Steve paused before answering. Whatever strange spell they had been under seemed to lift as he slipped into a more easy mood. Part of her couldn’t help but think he was doing it for her sake. There was a closeness between them that danced on the edge of something else. He was her friend, and she was grateful that he kept it that way. “Aye, I’m lucky you weren’t,” he said with a little laugh. She could hear him slipping on his boots. “You’re not good at following the rules, are you Natasha?” He fastened his belt around his narrow waist. “What were you doing out there, anyway?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha narrowed her eyes and turned to face him. She wished she hadn’t done a good job on his hair. It was pulled back neatly from his handsome face, two symmetrical braids on either side where it swept back into a thick half braid. He looked striking.  “Following you, actually,” she said. His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Or at least, I thought it was you… You gave Sharon my cloak?” </p><p> </p><p>Steve laughed. “Well she had no cloak of her own.” </p><p> </p><p>She sighed. “Neither did you, you fool.” </p><p> </p><p>He shrugged, an easy smile on his face. “She seemed like she needed it more.” </p><p> </p><p>That was his way, she was finding. He looked after others before thinking of himself. She used this pause as an opportunity to question him. “What’s out there?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s expression hardened a little, his eyes flinty. “I don’t know for certain. A work camp of some kind, I think. Sharon was looking for her father. I told her to let me handle it, but… well… Maybe she’s not so good at following rules either.”</p><p> </p><p>She believed him. She’d have to wait for Yelena’s report, after all. Natasha sighed. “Can you promise me not to go back there?” she asked. It worried her to think of him getting into trouble without her there. He might spark war with his disappearance. And she didn’t want to admit it, but she was afraid to lose him. </p><p> </p><p>He was silent for a moment, before he answered. “Aye, you have my word. I won’t return there until after the wedding. I am confident that there’s no immediate danger, and once you are married, Storm Bringer can act more openly to find out what is going on.” </p><p> </p><p>The mention of her future husband’s name made her look away. She needed to be more serious about this. The wedding was three days away. She brushed past him and opened the front door a crack to poke her head out. It was early, dawn barely settled over the village. A few people milled around, going about their business. She wasn’t satisfied that nobody would see him leave, so she shut the door and crossed the room to open the window instead. “I hope to see you at the wedding,” she said. “You promised me a drink, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve was a bit sheepish at that. “Aye, I did.” </p><p> </p><p>She chose to ignore his standoffishness and looked to see the empty space sprawling behind her turf house. Nobody was around. “Then I’ll see you there,” she said, gesturing to the open window. He raised an eyebrow. “By your leave, my lord.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve laughed at that, and she memorized the sound of it, the way his eyes crinkled. She smiled, but it felt hollow. She hoped this wasn’t the last time she heard him laugh. “I can’t have anyone see you leave,” she elaborated. “What would they think?” </p><p> </p><p>He smirked and slipped past her to vault out the window. “I suppose you’re right.” He gave her a last look, a fleeting smile. There was a sadness in his eyes that she couldn’t understand. “Goodbye, Natasha,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>He turned to leave, and Natasha leaned out the window to watch him go.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am very tired this week, ya'll (and it's only Monday lol time has no meaning). Leave a comment if you enjoyed!</p><p>No beta reader this week either, so I'll probably be fiddling around with this chapter a bit in the next day or two. Follow me on twitter (@YeetaNo) for updates.  </p><p>A history note: Steve's mother is a Celt. Vikings participated in raids to plunder places for wealth, but these raids also included capturing people as well. </p><p>Another update this week possibly? We shall see!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Further Complication</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natasha knew her last venture out was a misstep.  She couldn’t deny she and Steve were closer now that they had ever been before. Her room felt empty without him in it. It was strange— it had the same four walls, the same hearth and trunk, but it felt different. Natasha sighed and began to pick up her things from the floor, fold them, and return them to her trunk. His last look confused her. His simple goodbye felt like it was final. In a way, it was. She would be gone in three day’s time. She put away the final folded shawl in her trunk and closed the lid. When she turned to the empty room, it was as if he had never been there at all, yet the feeling of his presence lingered. </p><p> </p><p>She eyed the empty chair he had sat in, still sitting facing the hearth. She remembered his eyes, the way he had looked at her, the way he had called her kind. For a moment, it felt as though he saw a piece of the real her, the person she <em> could </em> be. It was a lie, a dangerous one, that she couldn’t indulge. She wasn’t the woman he thought she was— far from it. She was a killer, nameless, a future Widow. Pretending to be anything else was a fantasy. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha shuttered the window and endeavored to put this all behind her, clean her headspace of his presence just as she had cleaned her room. She needed to, for her own sanity. But she couldn’t erase the feel of his skin beneath her hands, the sound of his laughter, how kindly he looked at her. Instead she tucked all these memories away into her heart for safekeeping, and shut the lid. </p><p>
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</p><p>It was easy to weather the final days before her graduation in solitude. It gave her time to think. Natasha made no attempt to look outside after the mishap in the woods and only left to get food and drink in the early morning and late at night. It was going on evening on her last day as a sister of the Red Room.</p><p> </p><p>Her wedding was tomorrow night. </p><p> </p><p>How numb she was already. She imagined how she might feel after she had completed her mission. There was nothing. She felt nothing. No fear, no doubt or uncertainty. This felt like an inevitability now. There was no stopping this. She couldn’t feel gratitude, or relief over that fact either. She spent her final day in quiet solitude, imagining her life after the wedding. Nothing came to mind for that either. She knew there’d be a naming ceremony, she would claim her Widow title, but beyond that, nothing. Her future was a blank slate. </p><p> </p><p>The shutters of her window were suddenly flung open, and she was greeted by the sudden sight of a Northman dressed in Ross’s colours. That was perhaps… surprising, to say the least. Her hand curled around her dagger, eyes sharp and keen as she watched the intruder. When he turned, she recognized those grey eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Sister,” Yelena greeted upon seeing her. </p><p> </p><p>She came in through the window, latching it shut behind her to keep out the cold spring air. She patted herself off, shaking the frost from her cloak and padded armour. </p><p> </p><p>It was a relief to see her, though she didn’t show it. Natasha watched her with a carefully neutral expression, as Yelena took off her helmet and cloak. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms— Natasha was forced to put her younger sister in her place when they last spoke, but it didn’t change how pleased she was to see her again. Natasha was hoping her sister came with answers. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha got up to help her out of her padded armour. It was frosted over, cold. Yelena hesitated, watching her coolly as she undid the clasps of her jacket. Perhaps she was uncertain with this display of kindness. Natasha gave nothing away, her expression blank. “What did you discover?” she asked as she helped her shrug out of the jacket.  </p><p> </p><p>Yelena snapped to attention, all business. “An encampment made of thralls,” she said, “deep in the woods, hidden away from prying eyes.” </p><p> </p><p>That tracked with Steve’s intelligence. He had revealed the warlords had constructed a work camp of sorts. “For what purpose?” </p><p> </p><p>“Mining,” Yelena said. “Silver. The warlords intend to take what is there to fund the acquisition of mercenaries, to bribe smaller warlords. I suspect Ross, Agger, and Strucker intend to keep their alliance after Storm Bringer is dead.” </p><p> </p><p><em> In case the Widow fails </em>… That was Strucker’s reassurance to his allies. Was that their master plan? Leverage wealth to bolster their influence and power? If she failed, they might buy themselves the support of other warlords, create a coalition against the Aesir. Natasha met her sister’s gaze, studying the grey of her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Will this interfere with my mission?” she asked. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena was steady, her words reassuring. “No,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha allowed a small, brief smile. “Then we are set.” </p><p> </p><p>Her sister nodded, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her mouth in return. “Tomorrow, sister.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha was consumed with nothingness once more.  There was a comfort in it, she supposed. This was the true path. She would learn to embrace this, let it shape her. “I am to complete my final ritual then,” Natasha said gravely, moving to retrieve something from her trunk. Yelena watched her with a sense of anticipation, her brow furrowed as she watched her elder sister intently. Natasha turned back around, brandishing a bar of soap with a little smile. “A bath.” </p><p> </p><p>Of the maiden rituals Natasha actually intended on completing, bathing was one of them. She imagined Thor was doing the same. It was meant to cleanse them of unmarried status, prepare them for their life as husband and wife. They were meant to shed their past selves, enter marriage purified and new. Natasha didn’t put much stock in it— her participation was all for show, but she did want to cleanse herself of a different identity. Tomorrow night, she would be Natasha, sister, no more. She willed the water to purge her of them, of everything she had come to feel on this mission. She wanted to erase everything about her. She was nothing, meant for greatness through the Widows. She would purify herself for them, cleanse herself for her true marriage to the Red Room. </p><p> </p><p>Her grey eyed sister smiled at the joke. This might be the last time Natasha could afford to interact with her like this. In her own way, she was saying goodbye to her sister as well. “Do you want company?” Yelena asked. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha shook her head. “I want to be alone,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena seemed to understand that and moved to take off her waist belt. “I’ll see you later then,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>With that, Natasha left. It was evening, the sunset a brilliant wash of faded pinks and purples as she headed for the bathhouse. It was a private little enclosure on the outskirts of the village, fenced in by high, wooden walls. The area was partially covered by a slanted, wooden roof that allowed for a view of the sky. Its source was a natural hot spring— a wide, deep well in the earth that Strucker saw fit to line with flagstone to keep mud out. He had constructed a small mudroom with a door that served as the entrance. He was a private man, when it came down to it. </p><p> </p><p>Silently, Natasha slipped into the privacy of the bathhouse. In the distance she could hear warriors mingling in the village, drinking, laughing. Their voices were faint in the quiet space of the mudroom.  It smelled of spruce, the timber constructs releasing a faint scent in the steamy air of the bathhouse. Natasha inhaled deeply, savouring the scent. She was strangely at peace now. It felt as though she had tied up all her loose ends. Yelena was back, the warlord’s scheme didn’t affect her, Sharon was safe, Steve was safe— or he would be. Envisioning a world without him in it gave her the same emptiness she had when he had left her room. She could imagine the feel of his lingering presence in her mind, his mark on the world gone. It would haunt her if she believed he was dead. He’d hate her for it, curse her name, but she had decided she wouldn’t let fate claim him. On her wedding night, when she shared her last drink with him, she planned to slip him a sedative, knock him unconscious for the ensuing war. That would be her last act as Natasha. Her last act of kindness for her friend. As Black Widow, she would think of him no more. </p><p> </p><p>Steam swirled, rising into the air as Natasha latched and locked the door behind her. She slipped off her boots, leaving them neatly by the door before she began to untie her the belt around her waist. As she left the mudroom, she froze. Someone else was in here. She could hear someone by the water and peeked around the corner to see Steve. </p><p> </p><p>She frowned. He was like a burr— hard to be rid of. He was half dressed, his tunic in a heap away from the water alongside his boots. He toyed with the tie of his pants as he watched the water with a troubled expression. In the evening light she could see the fear in his eyes. He might be reliving his plunge into the frozen lake days before. </p><p> </p><p>She shivered to remember that night. She could only imagine how it made him feel. When she looked back, Steve was undoing his pants. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and she suddenly felt the need to escape. Now that she knew he was here, there was no reason to stay, she could return later. But before she could leave, Steve tore his eyes from the water and caught sight of her in a double take. He gave a startled cry, losing his footing in surprise and fell into the hot spring. Fear sliced through her and Natasha moved without thinking. A terrible replay of the events two nights ago drove her forward. Dropping her things, she rushed to the pool.</p><p> </p><p>Steve resurfaced, his panic plain as he thrashed and clung to the side wall. He could touch bottom in the clouded waters of the hot spring; the water level came up to his chest. Natasha was relieved. She didn’t have a chance to say anything before he looked up at her with wide, flustered eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing here?” he accused, clearly embarrassed. He paused, searching her face. A thought seemed to dawn on him. “Gods… were you…” </p><p> </p><p>He sank into the murky water, his cheeks blazing red. Natasha’s brow furrowed before she caught his meaning. “No!” she cried, staring at him in disbelief. “I wasn’t spying on you!” He blinked in confusion and she scrambled to explain. “The door was unlocked. I came here to cleanse myself for my wedding tomorrow. And—” she crouched by the edge of the spring, her voice dropping into a harsh whisper. “you were <em> naked </em> in my room the night before, so don’t start with me.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve’s eyes widened in shock and she sighed in frustration, her own cheeks tingling with embarrassment. Maybe he didn’t remember— he was confused, delirious that night. “How did you think you came to be wearing my clothes the other night?” </p><p> </p><p>He reddened. “I assumed that I had undressed myself…”  he frowned, the memory obviously a bit murky. He couldn’t meet her eye, his expression shy. “Did you…”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha narrowed her eyes.  “I didn’t look then, either!” </p><p> </p><p>He looked like an angry drowned cat, his hair still set in the braids she had done for him, though soaked and dripping now. The absurdity of this encounter seemed to settle over her and she laughed. The sound of her laughter made the corner of his mouth quirk into a tiny smile. “What are <em> you </em>doing here?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>Steve sighed, unable to meet her eyes. “You’ll laugh if I tell you,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>“I won’t,” she promised. </p><p> </p><p>“I wanted…” he met her steady gaze. “I wanted to learn to swim.” </p><p> </p><p>She smiled and Steve set his jaw, his lips pursed. He moved to pull himself out of the water. “Never mind. I’ll leave, your purpose is far more important—” </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll teach you,” she offered. </p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t entirely sure where this was coming from. She was giving in again, succumbing to this absurd addiction to his kindness, the feeling she had when she was with him. Part of her knew she might not feel it again, that these were her last few moments with him before she destroyed this illusion for good. It was a craving she didn’t want to deny herself. This could be justified as being friendly, but really she wanted to feed on this, relish this just one more time. </p><p> </p><p>Steve was shocked. “What?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha stood and undid her belt and then her apron layer. “I’m a good swimmer. I can show you.” She began to pull off her wool dress and Steve’s eyes widened. He quickly averted his gaze.</p><p> </p><p>“Natasha—” </p><p> </p><p>She unlaced the tie of her shift and Steve’s words died in his throat. She paused to study him. He looked hesitant, uncomfortable and she deflated a little. She was being selfish, eager to consume this last indulgence, but she wasn’t considering his feelings. She would feed on him, bask in his company, revel in his presence, use him like a tool if he would let her. That wasn’t fair to him. If he was her friend, she shouldn’t use him so thoughtlessly just to make herself happy. Her fingers paused on the tie of her shift. </p><p> </p><p>“Unless, you rather I left,” she said. Steve was quiet, his expression indiscernible. “Because I can leave if you want me to. I just thought…” </p><p> </p><p>He swallowed hard. “I don’t mind if you stay,” he said softly. “I… you surprised me is all.” He sank into the water a little. “Didn’t think you’d want to help. Or… y’know, get undressed.” </p><p> </p><p>She snorted, resuming fiddling with the tie of her shift. “Are you protecting my virtue, Steve?” she asked as she shot him a glance. She was enjoying the teasing, again. He looked up at her with a shy expression and Natasha laughed softly, turning her gaze to the tie of her shift. “Don’t watch then.” She said as she tugged off her shift. She wore her simple breast band and breeches layer and stepped into the warm water. </p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t expecting Steve to obey, but he did. He had turned around, his gaze fixed on the water. Natasha smiled and fixed her hair into a knot before sinking down into the murky water. She glided over to him in one fluid motion, coming to a stop at his side. He seemed reluctant to look at her and she splashed him. He jerked away, eyes wide.  “Oh, would you relax? It’s just me.” </p><p> </p><p>He gave her a tight smile. “I know.” </p><p> </p><p>She smiled at him and submerged herself under the warm water, wetting her hair, letting the soundlessness take hold of her. There was a peace in this, a feeling she may never have again. She resurfaced to find he hadn’t moved at all, his body rigid as he watched her. “You’re tense,” she observed. </p><p> </p><p>“I—” he sighed heavily, his expression laced with worry and Natasha eased up on her teasing. This must be something that really frightened him. She knew how scared she had been watching him disappear into the dark waters of the frozen lake. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s alright to be afraid, Steve,” she said gently, gliding a little closer. He nodded, his brow furrowed.   </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s just get this over with,” he said. </p><p>He was too serious to want to talk about it. “Alright,” she said, moving in to take his arm. He was wound tightly, his body taut like a bowstring. Getting him to relax might be a challenge. “First, I’m going to teach you to float.” He seemed hesitant and she gave him a smile. “You can’t swim effectively unless you’re comfortable in the water.”  He frowned, swallowing hard and didn’t move. She looped her arm around his back and he met her eyes. He was rigid in her arms, his body tense. “Lie back,” she said. His eyebrows shot up and she laughed. “I’m not going to drown you, Steve. Relax.”</p><p> </p><p>He just let out a long breath. Slowly, she guided Steve onto his back as she supported his neck and head. He was incredibly nervous, his hand clamped around her arm in reflex. His feet were still on the ground, still clinging to the security of staying planted on the bottom of the pool. But Natasha was patient. She waited for him to adjust to the sensation of weightlessness, to trust her. Steve had put on a brave face before, the desire to reassure her and Sharon that kept him from breaking down, but she had seen the wildness in his eyes, felt the crush of his grip on her hand. There was no mistaking how terrified he had been of drowning. His discomfort in the water now was equally clear. </p><p> </p><p>Any bravery he had now had been stripped away. He was vulnerable, raw. He looked at her for reassurance, his body rigid and unyielding, his breaths shallow. She waited, his heart hammering against her through his back. Finally, he trusted her enough to let go of her arm. She smiled warmly for him. She hadn’t let him go then, and she wouldn’t now. Slowly, Natasha pressed the small of his back up, bringing his waist to the surface. When his feet left the bottom, Steve nearly struggled— he inhaled sharply, his head jerked to look at her. She could feel the coil of his muscles, the involuntary response of his body as she guided him to float on his back, supporting him against her body. He barely breathed, his lips pursed into a tight line, eyes wild with fear. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha met his gaze, took in the clear blue of his eyes. “I’ve got you,” she said. He swallowed hard and Natasha chuckled. “You have to breathe, Steve.” He let out a shuddering breath and she laughed. “You can trust me.” He seemed to sober a little at that, his gaze softening. More waiting ensued. She had to guide him patiently, gently, instruct him not to hold his breath. Gradually, he calmed down, his gaze never leaving hers. “Do you think you can close your eyes?” she asked softly. His jaw clenched, muscle jumping in his face, but he did as she asked.  </p><p> </p><p>She smiled at how nervous he was. His brows were drawn up, his jaw clenched tightly as she held him. He barely breathed still. Natasha adjusted her hold on him so she could touch his chest. His lips parted, his eyes fluttered open a hair, a soft breath escaping him. She felt the strong beat of his heart, the coarseness of the dusting of hair across his chest. “Breathe,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Some of the tension melted from him. He breathed, steady and light. In through the nose, out through the mouth. His body relaxed, unwound. He began to surrender to her. She moved his arms next. Tracing over the inside of his forearm, Natasha gently guided it away from his body to let it drift out by his side. He let his other arm do the same and Natasha moved to hold the small of his back again. “Just like that,” she said. “Breathe.” </p><p> </p><p>She could see the rise and fall of his chest, the way his ribs expanded and contracted with each breath. She studied the way water pooled in his navel, the line of faint hair just below, the way his pants clung to his skin. She focused her attention elsewhere. Once Natasha felt the tension fade from beneath her hands, she slowly let go of his back, letting her hand hover just below him. It was the most relaxed she had seen him while he was awake. She let him drift, weightless, for a few minutes longer until she gently clasped the back of his neck and tilted him to stand. He drifted to his feet and Natasha released him and sank back into the water.</p><p> </p><p>“Was that so hard?” she asked, her voice strangely reedy. </p><p> </p><p>Steve was quiet, his lips parting as though he would speak, but he said nothing. She swam forward and took his hands. He met her gaze, expression soft. There was something in his look that made her stomach drop and she quickly pulled him along.</p><p>“Now you’re actually going to swim.” </p><p> </p><p>She took him to the wall, had him hold it so he could learn to kick his legs. This was a little less personal. It gave her something else to do. Steve perked up again, shaking off the tenderness that had gripped him. He watched her intently as she showed him her technique. He was a good student, and learned quickly. Soon enough they were on to arms, practicing submersion, then putting it all together. He seemed a bit more relaxed, breathed a bit easier. He swam with blunt efficiency. He was graceless, faltering, but he was doing it.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha swam backward while he glided toward her. It made her smile, a grin plastered on her face and she disappeared under the water to swim further back. When she resurfaced, he faltered, his face going under. Immediately, Steve panicked, his eyes wide and quickly touched bottom, his body rigid once more. </p><p> </p><p>He sighed heavily, expression tense. “I feel like such a child,” he said stiffly. </p><p> </p><p>“You can’t be good at everything,” she said as she swam in a graceful circle around him. “But you’ve made good progress. You might even be good enough not to drown the next time you take an impromptu plunge into a frozen lake.” </p><p> </p><p>He chucked at that. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve tried,” he said. “When I was a boy, James tried to teach me.” </p><p>When he mentioned his childhood friend, his expression darkened and Natasha had the sense that he hadn’t meant to share that. Her feet touched bottom and she stood by his side. </p><p> </p><p>“It sounds like he was a good friend of yours,” she said lightly.</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s clenched his jaw. “He was my lord’s son. I was his property.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha fell silent, watching his pained expression. He seemed to want to say more, but he couldn’t make himself continue. He swallowed hard, his gaze drifting to the water. “Steve…” </p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said. “He’s gone now, has been for a long time.”</p><p> </p><p>His anger returned just as it did days before. She was reminded of the day they first met— he had seemed to her like a man who seemed to want to fight the world. It hadn’t made sense to her then, it made even less sense to her now. He was only fighting himself. Steve met her gaze, eyes bright with rage. “I hated him,” he said, his hands curling into fists. “I still hate him.” </p><p> </p><p>She didn’t quite believe him when he said it. It sounded as if he wanted to, as if he willed it to be true. It was the same with his mother. He seemed to want to be angry, to look for reasons to hate himself, to hate others. He wanted to carry it with him. She couldn’t understand it. He let his anger fester and grow like an open wound, let it consume him, burn him up. It broke her heart to think that he wanted it to. </p><p> </p><p>Her words were soft, apprehensive. “You have so much anger, so much rage in your heart,” she said. His brow furrowed, lips parted in surprise at her observation. “Why do you hold on to that, Steve?”</p><p> </p><p>He exhaled sharply, expression bitter. “I can’t let it go,” he said softly. “I’ve lost everything, everyone. How can I forgive myself? I don’t want to move on. This is all I’ve ever known.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha cocked her head. Surely that wasn’t true. Why couldn’t he see that? </p><p> </p><p>Steve took in her expression, and she knew it broke him a little. He looked at her, eyes burning, willing her to understand. “What else do I have?” he asked. He drew a little breath, working to control himself. “I should be dead. I should’ve died long ago. It’s not fair—” His eyes shone, his breathing ragged and he took a second to collect himself. “Why do I get to be here when everyone I love is gone?”</p><p> </p><p>He seemed to genuinely want an answer. He searched her, eyes pleading, but she had nothing for him. He was right, it wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. He studied the water in silence instead. “I’m not enough,” he said quietly. “I have to remember that. I’d give my life to this cause. I’ve already sworn to. I made a pledge to myself, to Storm Bringer. I swore it on Mjölnir.”</p><p> </p><p>This anger would destroy him, Natasha realized. It made her cold to think he wanted it to. The thought was unbearable. </p><p> </p><p>“This doesn’t have to be your life, Steve,” she said. The fragility of her words made him pause, his brow furrowed in frustration. “All this anger, all this self hatred.” She shook her head, coming a little closer. “Isn’t it heavy? Doesn’t it hurt to carry around with you?” She knew how much it did for her. She understood better than anyone. The constant ache of living, of trying to repair her own broken spirit was exhausting. It drove her to abandon everything she felt, give herself to numbness instead. He softened a little and Natasha met the clear blue of his eyes. He looked so broken, so lost. “I wish you could let it go. I want that more than anything for you.” </p><p> </p><p>He clenched his jaw, his eyes downcast. Suffering was plainly written on his face and she wished she could save him from it. He was silent, unable to answer her for a moment. When he met her gaze again, she saw fear in his eyes. “I’m not sure who I am without it,” he said. He sounded so small. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha smiled a little. It pained her that he couldn’t see it, that he couldn’t recognize himself. “Shall I tell you?” she asked softly. </p><p> </p><p>He looked afraid to hear her answer, his eyes desperate, searching. She moved closer, never breaking his gaze. “You’re a tracker,” she began, “a shepherd. You don’t like crowds, you prefer the company of sheep to people and you can’t hold your liquor.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve blinked, expression softening, and Natasha was compelled to continue. “You’re a freedman. The son of a strong woman, a woman who <em> loved </em> you.” His gaze faltered a little at the mention of his mother, and she cupped his cheek, guiding him to look at her. “You’re a songbird, stubborn to a fault, meddlesome, troublesome, handsome even if you think you aren’t. But more than that, you’re unfailingly kind.” Steve’s lips parted, his expression tender, warm and Natasha smoothed her thumb across his flushed cheek, meeting his timid gaze with a gentle smile. “I’m glad to know you,” she admitted. Steve's brows turned up, heat flushed into his face. He leaned into her touch slightly and she stroked his cheek again. “Because you’re not just enough, Steve— you’re so much more.”   </p><p> </p><p>She’d never been looked at the way Steve looked at her now. It was magnetic, powerful. In his eyes were a thousand words unspoken. She felt a pull in her chest she didn’t quite understand. Natasha laughed softly, withdrawing her hand from his cheek with a little embarrassment. “What, no retort? No—” </p><p> </p><p>Steve leaned in and kissed her and her world stopped. Everything came undone as Natasha was overwhelmed by a barrage of sensation. The tip of his nose was cold, his fingers gently cupped her face. His hands were calloused, rough, but his lips were very, <em> very </em> soft. Her hands slipped to his waist in shock. He had a narrow figure; broad shoulders and a slim waist. She knew that— but feeling him like this was different. It was different to feel the warmth of his skin, the hard leanness of his body with his lips on hers. They were almost perfectly aligned in height, made for each other. Access to his mouth was impossibly effortless. She inhaled, her mind scrambling to catch up with her body. Then it was over as soon as it had started. </p><p> </p><p>Steve drew a breath, pulling away to touch his forehead against hers, his fingers clasped around the back of her neck. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, the brush of his lashes as he looked down. It made her shiver. Slowly, he let her go. Releasing her neck, he moved away. It was unbearable that he didn’t speak, that he couldn’t speak. There was nothing to say. Nothing he <em> could </em> say that would undo what he had just done.  In an instant he had destroyed the safety of their friendship, shattered her world, ripped her defenses apart. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha stood motionless. Her heart hammered in her ears, her lips parted in shock. Then, terrible realization— she wanted it. She liked it. </p><p> </p><p>Something in her broke open. She didn’t think about it, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, drawing a surprised little grunt from him. Like a reflex, his hand came to rest on the small of her back, his palm broad and firm on her skin. She brushed her nose against his, her arms circling around his neck as she tilted her head to kiss him. Steve exhaled shakily, his lips grazing hers. He watched her through hooded lids, his long lashes veiling the steely blue of his eyes. What… What was she doing? When she pulled away, he followed, barely keeping himself from kissing her again. </p><p> </p><p>Her cheeks blazed with heat, her body pressed to his. She was terrified of this. She was raw, defenseless. He was so close she could almost feel the caress of his lashes as his gaze drifted from her lips back up to her eyes. When he looked at her like that, something within her stirred awake. She became like a stranger to herself. Why wasn’t she letting go? She moved closer, speaking against his lips. “Tell me to stop,” she said, hardly recognizing the tremble in her own voice. She didn’t want to. She didn’t <em> want </em>to. Her hands moved of their own accord, slipping to his shoulders. Her upper lip brushed his, his breath hot against her mouth. He made a soft sound at the contact and she shivered. “Tell me to stop,” she begged.</p><p> </p><p>His steady gaze pinned her in place, made her unable to look away. There was a look in his eyes she couldn’t place. They both knew they shouldn’t. They both knew the next words out of his mouth should be ‘stop’… Steve’s eyes drifted down, his lips grazing hers. His breath mingled with the rising steam, with her own. “No,” he whispered. </p><p> </p><p>Her lips found his, desperately, longingly. She kissed his lower lip, testing the fullness of it, giving in to the longing, the heady elation, the notion that she <em> wanted </em> this. It was like freefalling— a thrill unlike anything she’d ever felt. Steve inhaled, blooming at her touch as his lips parted under hers. It was mutual surrender, an admission, total and complete collapse. She took her time with it, savouring the soft, gentle suction where their lips melded. Steve leaned in to her, hand delving into the thick waves of her hair, fingers curling around the base of her skull to cradle her head. Strands of her hair came loose from her braid, falling around her face to tickle her nose. It was clear he didn’t do this often— he kissed the same way he swam—  methodical, blunt. He was a bit clumsy, lacking finesse, but she wanted him all the more for it. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha tangled her hands into his hair, gripping his braid tightly. She coaxed his mouth with hers, showed him how she liked it. She was surprised to find she had a preference at all, but she wanted it slow and sweet, a hot, burning give-and-take. He tilted his head and kissed her tenderly, his other hand slipping to press the small of her back to draw her closer— a fast learner in other areas as well, she observed. It was a perfect partnership, a slow, synchronous unraveling of one another. Every touch unmade her, every breath between the next moment their lips touched an eternity. </p><p> </p><p>Their kiss lengthened, opened, became deeper. Her body was weightless, sinuous as it found space against his. She was letting go of all pretenses, all the lies that kept her from admitting she wanted him. She pressed into him, pushed them back a step, then another. </p><p> </p><p>When his back hit the wall, Steve gasped, breathless, and Natasha claimed it with her lips, hungrily taking whatever he had to give. His breath, the noises he made, the hot, wild sweetness of his lips on hers— she wanted them all. His grip tightened in her hair, around her waist. She sighed in his arms, his grasp on her binding, solid. There was a safety in him, a promise, a life she wanted. <em> Never let me go</em>, her mind pleaded. But she couldn’t think about what that meant. Steve’s kisses became more insistent, deeper as he gained confidence. Natasha sighed softly, teasing his lower lip between her teeth, delighting in the hitch in his breath.  It gave her a thrill that she could do this to him, make him react like this. She wanted more, <em> craved </em> more. </p><p> </p><p>Delicately, her tongue tested the seam of his lips and he parted them, his eyes drifting open a little as if uncertain of what this was. He made a quiet sound when her tongue slipped into his mouth to meet his. The sensation was elemental, a shock to her body that set her nerves on fire. Heat rose in his face as she kissed him like this and he made a soft, needy noise as their tongues twined in a slow dance. Steve sagged back against the wall, and she pressed into him, hungry to hear him make that sound again. This wasn’t just a kiss anymore. She knew it, but didn’t have a mind to stop. Steve’s grip tightened on her before he broke away, breathless. Perhaps he felt it too. This was becoming more. </p><p> </p><p>“Natasha— ” he gasped, tilting his chin up to deny her access to his lips. Her name on his lips broke her. It felt like hers, it felt like <em> her.</em></p><p> </p><p>She shivered and kissed his throat instead, feeling his pulse race beneath her lips. The sound he made— something between a moan and a whimper—was delicious. She worked her way down over his skin in a series of playful kisses until she was just above his collarbone. His head curled down, his breath hot on her cheek and she nipped him and delighted in his muffled little cry before her tongue laved over the mark in apology. Steve sucked in a little breath and squirmed away from her.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait,” he pleaded, taking hold of her wrists. “Wait—” Natasha pulled away in surprise but his eyes were downcast, his face flushed and colouring deeper, red spreading across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. His lips were swollen with her kisses, the fair skin of his neck marked by her teeth. “We can’t do this,” he said quietly. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha froze for a moment to study him before she flushed furiously, her passion cooling almost immediately at his words. She backed off and tried to tuck her messy hair back into place, feeling like a fool. She didn’t know what to say, so she stayed silent, her heart racing in her chest. </p><p> </p><p>Steve smoothed a hand across his mouth, seemingly at a loss for words. Natasha inhaled sharply, reality crashing back around her. He was right. They couldn’t do this. She looked away. “Sorry,” she said. He was in a more awkward position than she— he had just betrayed Storm Bringer by kissing her. “I understand your service to your lord.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve stiffened at that notion, his expression stormy. “That’s not…” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha frowned. “It’s not about Storm Bringer?” </p><p> </p><p>“No,” he said, meeting her gaze. But he faltered as Natasha waited for him to elaborate. He sighed and grasped his shoulder where she nipped him, his hand lingering over the mark she had left. “Yes. I— I mean…” he closed his eyes for a moment, the silence growing long between them. He gathered himself and met her eyes. “This was a mistake,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done what I did.”</p><p> </p><p>It hurt to hear it. Natasha blinked, her brow furrowing. Without another word, Steve hoisted himself out of the water, walked over to his clothes and gathered them up. He couldn’t look at her as he said, “I’m sorry, Natasha.” </p><p> </p><p>She was vaguely aware of the door slamming shut behind him, the twilight fading around her. He was right about that, too. It was a mistake to get to know him, to let him in. It was a mistake to be kind to him, to be his friend. Clearly, it was more than that. Snow fell from the darkening skies above, her breath swirling in the steamy air. Flakes drifted and danced, disappearing before they touched the water. She was alone, but she could still feel him— the hard leanness of his body, his hands on her neck, her back, his lips on hers. A shiver shot through her and she closed her eyes. She could still taste him on her tongue. </p><p> </p><p>What had she done?</p><p> </p><p>Natasha sank beneath the water and let out a primal scream. <br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh boy! We made it! It's the big one! I had these scenes planned for a while now. The kiss scene was actually one of the first scenes I wrote for this story, but this draft is quite different from the original. </p><p>Drop me a comment if you enjoyed :)</p><p>Follow me on twitter for updates (@YeetaNo). Update... I don't know yet. Maybe next week? We'll see.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Wedding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>It was a long while before Natasha resurfaced. Under the water, she didn’t have to confront what had just happened. She held her breath until her lungs burned, until she couldn’t hold it anymore. She broke the surface with a gasp, broke back into reality. But nothing was the same. The world was strange, unreal, as though she had entered a different realm entirely. Nothing felt the same— not the steam rising from the darkening hot springs, not the twilight sky above, not the distant laughter of warriors in the village. She understood that these things hadn’t changed, not really. The problem was with her. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha hauled herself out of the water in a daze and went to the mudroom to bolt the door. She was dripping wet, her underclothes tracking water across the wooden planks of the quiet room. She stood in silence, her hand on the lock, staring at the wall in front of her, still trying to catch her breath. She could still feel Steve’s lips on hers and she closed her eyes and hastily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as if hoping that would erase the sensation. In her mind’s eye she saw his eyes as he watched her. She envisioned his full lips, parted and soft as he said her name. It was a mistake, she reminded herself… Natasha paused, her fingers pressed to her lips. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, her mind replayed the kiss again. She shivered to imagine his breath on her skin, his hands on her neck, his mouth on hers. For a moment, her eyes fluttered shut, her breath caught in her throat. She wondered what it might feel like if he had continued. If he kissed her throat, the juncture of her shoulder and neck, his hands drifting down… She shivered, her hand settling over the place where his phantom lips touched her.</p><p> </p><p>It was a mistake… She knew it was a mistake. He never should’ve kissed her. She never should have kissed him back. But… she felt his touch on her neck under the pads of her fingers and squeezed herself tightly. If… if  he kissed her throat, she might twine her fingers through his soft hair. She hated that she knew how it felt— that it was wavy and fine and felt like silk when she brushed it. Natasha shook her head and tried to shove the thought aside. She tried to bury this stupid notion, but the thought wouldn’t leave her. His soft lips on her throat, rough hands drifting down her body, the feel of his hair, yes— and then how she might glide her hands down his back, feel the flex and pull of muscle beneath his skin, study the fluidity, the gracefulness of his body. That was a thrill— to imagine him as hers. Natasha covered her mouth, her eyes squeezed shut. She imagined his expression. How she desperately wanted to see it, to touch those long lashes, trace the ridge of his cheekbones, the sharpness of his jawline before she kissed him.  She wondered what noises she could draw from him, how the gentle scrape of his teeth on her skin might feel, how his tongue might… </p><p> </p><p>Natasha bit her lip hard, her eyes flying open. This had to stop. All of this had to stop. She couldn’t feel this way about him. Furiously, she stripped off her wet underclothes and unbound her braid. Her skin was still alive with the mere memory of him, the faded impression of his touch, of his lips on hers. </p><p> </p><p>She didn’t know what to do.</p><p> </p><p>Fear, sharp and metallic, rose through her like an alarm. Her breaths became ragged, short cloudy bursts in the tiny space of the darkening mudroom. She was shivering, naked. Why did she want to make the same mistake again and again and again? Stripped bare, she grabbed the bar of soap and marched back to the hot spring. She knew she couldn’t return to Yelena in this state, so she made herself stay. She scoured her arms, her shoulders, her back until her skin was red and inflamed. She attacked her hair, lathering away the feel of his fingers twining through it. Instead of cleansing herself of her identity, her goal now became to cleanse herself of Steve. </p><p> </p><p>She returned to Yelena in the growing darkness, silently slipping into the safety of her turf house to find her grey-eyed sister stoking the fire. When her sister looked at her, she was immediately on edge. Surely she would notice how red her lips were, how flushed her cheeks looked. She wanted to tell her everything, wanted to purge herself of this awful burden. </p><p> </p><p>“Sister,” she greeted instead. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena searched her, carefully taking in her expression and Natasha quickly found her comb and ran it through her hair. Her hands trembled and she gripped the comb more tightly, working it through her red waves. All the while, Yelena’s eyes were on her back. They didn’t speak as Natasha brushed out her hair, ate dinner, and dressed for bed. She retired to sleep soon after, curling up tightly, her eyes fixed on the wall. </p><p> </p><p>She had hoped for sleep, but she wasn’t so lucky. How could she have been so stupid? She had made a mistake, hadn’t she? Natasha touched her lips again, traced the places Steve had touched her. She could still feel the wet pressure of his tongue on hers, the hot ghost of his breath on her lips. Her heart raced, her stomach dropped. If it was a mistake, why didn’t it feel like one? She curled her hands into her bedding, furious. </p><p>When did this happen? How could this have happened? She wracked her brain and found a catalogue of everything she’d done with him. She was soft for him for a while, that she knew, but when did she start… wanting him? She chewed her lip, thinking of him, of how they met, of their time together. All it did was show her the conclusion that it had been there all this time, a notion she had refused to entertain or acknowledge. She liked him— the sound of his laugh, his smile, his eyes and cocksure attitude. She liked how he teased her, how red he turned when she teased him in return. She liked how he made her feel. </p><p> </p><p><em> Natasha. </em> She heard her name on his lips and it gave her goosebumps. That wasn’t her name, not really. She didn’t have a name. He didn’t know her at all— he never would, but when he called her that, when he kissed her like that, looked at her like he <em> saw </em> her, like he loved her… Natasha let out a slow breath. It seemed obvious to think back on it now. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha shut her eyes, breathing evenly. She was so tired of this, of everything. He couldn’t love her. Nobody could love her. There was nothing there anymore, nothing worth saving. She was an empty shell and Steve had fallen for the mask she wore, her pretty exterior, the woman he <em> thought </em> she was. She wasn't that woman— she never would be.  Natasha shivered, her wet hair clinging to the back of her neck. She wanted to be rid of him, to let him go. But Steve was in her heart, in her mind, changing her, making her open, vulnerable, kind. He made her want to be those things, made her want to be the woman he believed her to be. </p><p> </p><p>She hated him for it.  </p><p> </p><p>She trembled, her hands curled into a white-knuckled grip on her bedding. She was Black Widow. That was all. Nobody else. When Yelena slipped into bed with her, Natasha curled up, her knees nearly to her chest. Her sister silently gathered her wet hair from her neck and arranged it on the pillow to dry. Natasha was grateful she had been trained not to cry. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The hours before her wedding slipped away in a strange haze. Natasha sat in a stupor, staring blankly ahead while Yelena ran her clever fingers through her hair. The sensation gave her goosebumps and she closed her eyes. She was dressed already— a jewel-toned green silk apron layer over a white linen under dress. Absently, Natasha twisted the bracelet he had given her, unable to keep her hands still.  </p><p> </p><p>It was a matter of hours now. She would wed the Aesir, kill him, become a Widow. It seemed simple when she listed it like that. But there was a deep, sharp pain in her heart that she could not define.  She imagined Steve watching her. His blue eyes pinned her, undid her. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena braided her hair in silence and Natasha’s hand fell still on the bracelet. </p><p> </p><p>“What was it like?” Natasha asked softly. “Before, when you bedded your man?” It shouldn’t matter. But part of her wanted to know. She was nervous, when it came down to it. Maybe she wanted reassurance before she bedded someone for the first time. Yelena had more experience than she when it came down to sex and relationships. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena paused, frozen. “Why does that matter?” she softly replied. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha's gaze fell to her hands, ashamed she had even asked. “It doesn’t.” </p><p> </p><p>She resumed braiding her hair. “You’re graduating soon, sister. Focus on that.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re right,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked.” </p><p> </p><p>They returned to silence once more. Yelena finished the braid and fixed it with flowers and holly leaves, decorating the elaborate braid work with the colourful little blooms.  </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think we can compare the two,” Yelena said quietly. Natasha hadn’t expected her to speak, she turned her head a little to look at her and Yelena met her eyes with a tiny smile before she looked away. “What I did with him wasn’t for a mission.” she swallowed, taking a little breath. “And… what he did to me wasn’t what we were trained to expect.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha stared, her eyes wide. What else was there to it? They knew everything about the act, but Yelena seemed to imply there was more. “What do you mean?” She hated how childish she sounded. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena was thoughtful as she fixed a flower in Natasha’s hair. “He didn’t speak much— But he was so…” </p><p> </p><p>She’d never heard her sister sound so tender. Natasha was quiet for a moment, her even breaths steadying. She thought of Steve’s lips on hers, the taste of him, the feel of his hands on her body. She ran her hands over her arms absently, chasing away the memory. Maybe she understood what Yelena couldn’t bring herself to say. Her sister had experienced something dangerous, raw. She knew, because she had felt it too. Natasha fixed her gaze on her hands. Would she ever feel like that again? </p><p> </p><p>Yelena shook her head. “It’s better not to feel it, sister.”  </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she said. Better to feel nothing at all. </p><p> </p><p>The last piece was given to her— her bridal crown. Yelena put it on her head, carefully adjusting it to fit. She smiled, touching Natasha’s cheek briefly. “Congratulations, sister,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>The journey to the mead hall was a blur. The heavy wooden doors were opened, and she immediately felt Storm Bringer’s presence in the room. That made her focus— she had a job to do. She barely registered walking the length of the hall to her waiting groom. A smile was plastered to her face as she studied him. He was dressed in colours inverted to match hers— a white tunic with green embroidery. He wore a soft wolf pelt mantle around his shoulders and plain black trousers. A red silk belt circled his waist, runes embroidered on the fabric.  He still wore his helmet and a pair of silver bracers, though his long blonde hair was braided with red cord in a plait down his back instead of flowing loose. Natasha had to wonder if he did it himself or if he trusted one of his men enough to do it for him. He looked handsome.</p><p> </p><p>As she joined him at the altar, he towered over her, imposing, monolithic. His oppressive energy swirled in a field around him. She was afraid to meet his eye. Afraid that somehow, he would know what she had come here to do, or worse, that he would know she wasn’t thinking of him on their wedding day.  </p><p> </p><p>There were many faces watching. Natasha saw Ross and Agger and Strucker. Yelena, briefly, before she disappeared into the crowd. An officiant joined them at the front to oversee the union, to hear their vows and bind them in marriage. He carried with him several ornate strips of cordage, finely woven and embroidered with runes. Gently, Storm Bringer took her hands and she stiffened at the feel of his energy flowing through her like a current, charging her bracelet, making her hair stand on end. She looked at him a little more seriously, her heart pounding in her ears. </p><p> </p><p>His electric gaze made her shiver, his expression nearly unreadable as he watched her. The officiant began the ceremony. First was an exchange of rings— she slipped the provided band onto his finger, then he did the same. He interlaced their fingers, bridging them together. She kept her gaze on their joined hands, her expression carefully set in a smile. He smiled in return, his beard neat and trimmed, kindness in his eyes. The officiant handed Storm Bringer the first cord— red as blood. </p><p> </p><p>Despite the large crowd, Storm Bringer spoke quietly. He spoke only for her. “Chains do not bind this marriage, threads do,” he said as he draped the cord over her wrist. Natasha kept her attention on their hands, squeezing him tightly. “A thread of fate that brought me to you.” He draped a second cord over her wrist. “A thread of kindness sewn into me through your gentle touch,” he added another, “a thread of love in your smile, a thread of joy in your laughter.” He laid the final cord over her arm and smiled gently as he took her other hand, his thumb stroking over her knuckles. She felt small in his grasp. He drew a little breath, giving her hands a squeeze and she met the glowing light of his gaze.  </p><p> </p><p>“These are the hands of your husband,” he said. The officiant began to tie the cords around their joined hands, binding them together. Natasha swallowed down the lump in her throat. The second cord was looped around them and tied. “These are the hands of the man who will protect you, be your sword and shield, seek your wisdom and counsel as we build our lives together.” Storm Bringer watched their joined hands as the cords were pulled into loose knots, his expression laced with a strange wistfulness. The final cord was tied. He met her gaze. “The threads which bind us are stronger than any chain, any circumstance that brought us together. This is a marriage of equals, of peace.” The officiant bound them tightly in an ornate knot and she faltered. Storm Bringer gave her a gentle squeeze and she looked at him, her heart pounding in her chest. “Natasha, you are sewn through me, woven into my heart.” He smiled softly. “I give you that which is freely mine to give— my heart, my body, my life. As your husband, this is my vow to you.” </p><p> </p><p>Why did he have to look at her like this? Like he cared about her, like he wanted a life with her. Natasha’s heart pounded in her chest. She squeezed the young warlord’s hands and he misinterpreted it as happiness. He squeezed her in return, a smile ghosting across his lips. </p><p> </p><p>Her mouth was dry, her tongue leadened. She forced herself to speak. “I vow to always be at your side,” she said. She offered lies, empty words in answer to his sincerity. He was a good man and she would destroy him. “These knots bind us, bind our families. I vow to be worthy of you, to yield to you. I give you myself—my body, my heart. As your wife, this is my vow to you.” </p><p> </p><p>Their hands slipped apart and the cords that tied them pulled together into a tight knot. The union was complete. They were married. She was his wife. The thought hit her suddenly. She was his <em> wife </em>. Natasha met his gaze, a bit panicked, and he beamed at her, overjoyed. This was real to him. Natasha’s lips curled into a dazzling smile in return, no one in the room would doubt that she wanted him. Looking out at the guests watching them, she smiled and laughed as if she were happy. Her eyes drifted over the sea of faces. </p><p> </p><p>Steve was not there. </p><p> </p><p>Her smile faded and she turned to her new husband to seal the union with a kiss. Her hands settled on his chest as she stood on her toes to reach him. He bowed to kiss her, meeting her halfway, his braid falling over his shoulder as he did. Their lips met, soft, electric. She would <em> not </em>be repeating the kiss she had with Steve. That was hers. He gently grasped her waist and pulled her closer. His beard tickled her face, he smelled like a coming storm, sharp and sweet like the promise of rain. It was electric, a tingling sensation where their lips met, as a strange current of energy buzzed through her. It swam through him, around him like a field that she felt she had no place in. His thumb caressed her neck, fingers tracing her windpipe before coming to a stop in the hollow of her throat. His touch sent goosebumps rippling across her skin and the hair on her neck stood on end. He pulled away from her, his breath shaky as he turned to face the whoops and shouts of his men with a smile. Natasha still felt his touch on her skin and grasped his arm tightly. </p><p> </p><p>The rest of her wedding festivities were spent in a dazed fog. Her mind was too preoccupied to enjoy the entertainment. Skálds recited stories, poems and songs; there was dancing, contests, far too much drinking and food. Natasha sipped her wedding mead by her husband’s side, the weight of what she would have to do later hanging over her. All this happiness would soon end—  quiet, undignified death for Storm Bringer, slaughter for the rest of his warriors. She would be free after that. Given her title, made into a Widow at last. It was within her grasp now. Natasha drank down her mead, ignoring the tremble in her hand.</p><p> </p><p>Hours passed, night fell. She had no drink with Steve after all. He never came to wish them well— she couldn’t blame him for that. She had doomed him. As the hours whiled away,  the longhouse and mead hall both fell into complete disarray as the guests drank themselves stupid. It was then that she glanced at Storm Bringer, who seemed no drunker than she despite the amount of mead and ale he had consumed, and took his hand. He glanced at her inquisitively, and she leaned in close to speak in his ear. </p><p> </p><p>“Take me to bed,” she said.  </p><p> </p><p>He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and they took their leave. She met Strucker’s gaze from across the feast table. He gave her a curt nod, his expression taut, expectant, and she turned away, letting her husband lead her back to his abode. They received some knowing looks as they left, a few drunken slaps on the back for Storm Bringer, some envious smiles for Natasha. He made small talk on the way back, she didn’t care what about. Was the feast to her liking? Had she found the skálds entertaining? She answered each pleasantly, her training taking over. She hardly had to think at all and for that, she was grateful.</p><p> </p><p>It was dark inside his manor house when they entered— his men hadn’t lit the hearth fire. Storm Bringer sighed and Natasha latched the door shut behind him, locking them in. As soon as they were through the doors, Natasha kissed him hard. He drew a sharp breath, his mouth hot, soft against hers. She could feel him grin, feel his laughter rumble through her like rolling thunder. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll light the hearth,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha smiled and kissed him again. “Don’t take too long,” she said, her voice a dusky purr. </p><p> </p><p>He chuckled, undoing his mantle as he moved to the darkened fireplace. Natasha silently made her way up to his bedroom loft, withdrawing her hidden blade and stowing it securely beneath the bed frame for later. </p><p> </p><p>As he lit the hearth downstairs, Natasha began to undress. She was unthinking, methodical, stripping off each layer until she was standing in her white linen shift. The garment was thin, nearly see-through.  She was sure to wear nothing under it— easier access, more enticing— she imagined the Widows voices telling her that. But the air was cold on her skin and she shivered. Natasha slipped the neckline off her shoulder and waited, her gaze fixed on the floor. </p><p> </p><p>She could feel him when he returned. The swirl of his cosmic presence filled the entry behind her and she glanced over her shoulder to see him pause to look at her. His eyes glowed in the low lighting, his helmet hiding his expression.</p><p>“Are you going to just stand there?” she asked softly, a coquettish little smile on her lips. “You’re making me nervous.” </p><p> </p><p>She turned away to watch the wall, playing her part— shy, naïve. She waited for him to come to her. He paused a moment and she heard him take off his cloak and set it down. Eventually, his footsteps approached as he came up behind her, and the tension inside her pulled taut. His energy became overwhelming, oppressive as he drew closer.  Her smile slipped and she studied the floor in silence, waiting for him to bed her, make her his. </p><p> </p><p>When he timidly rested his hand on the small of her back, Natasha let out a little breath. The contact charged her with that strange energy once more and she stiffened. His thumb experimentally stroked over her hip and warmth bloomed in Natasha’s cheeks in an involuntary response. He always touched her so carefully— like she was precious, worthy of care. She focused on her hands, doing her best to keep her composure. Everything she wanted was within reach. Slowly, cautiously, Storm Bringer traced the length of her spine through her shift, following its curve all the way up before he hesitated at her exposed skin. She drew a breath, her eyes drifting shut. </p><p> </p><p>There was a pause, a strange tension that made Natasha’s heart race in anticipation. He seemed to gather himself before, slowly, his fingers dipped over the edge of her dress to graze her bare skin, the pads of his index and middle fingers brushing inquisitively over her spine. She couldn’t help the soft noise that escaped her, nor the rush of goosebumps that raced across her skin. Touching him before was a challenge, but his touch on her now stole her breath away.  </p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer seemed to gauge her reaction carefully before sweeping his hand up to touch her, to take in the feel of her. Natasha inhaled, her lips parting in shock as her head instinctively bowed a little. His touch was an electrifying, overwhelming hum of sensation over her skin. She thought she was prepared for it, but it was so much stronger than she remembered, and her guard slipped. He touched her like he was in awe of <em> her </em>, like she was the one radiating unearthly power. Natasha turned her head to stare at the floor, her heart pounding in her ears. She needed to stay focused, but his agonizingly intimate touch muddled her thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>He stepped closer, and she felt the heat of him then. The chill of the air quickly dissipated. His other hand rested on her hip, his fingers curling into her through the thin fabric. Her breath hitched as his thumb grazed over the edge of her shoulder blade with a careful attention to the ridges and valleys of her body. He seemed to study her, to <em> worship </em> her. Each one of his fingers caressed over her vertebrae one by one in a careful, considered tally. His palm followed to sweep upward between her shoulders in a dizzying array of sensation that made her shudder. He was warm, gentle, powerful, and she could feel these qualities to her core. He made her come alive, made her feel desired, wanted. Natasha was held in an unbearable holding pattern, her hands twisted into the fabric of her shift as she trembled under his touch. Gradually, she let herself relax and leaned back into him, her gaze still fixed straight ahead. His arm circled around her waist, hand coming to rest on her belly to anchor her. </p><p> </p><p>He was so close— his body powerful and strong pressed against her back. His breath was hot on her neck and he pressed a kiss on her exposed shoulder. It was electric. Natasha bit her lip, her eyes drifting shut. Sweeping her hair from her shoulder,  Storm Bringer pressed a kiss on the juncture of her neck and shoulder, his beard soft on her skin. He had taken his helmet off— she could feel his nose skim along the curve of her neck, the brush of his lashes on her skin. Her head tilted on its own accord, giving him better access. It was unbearable, overwhelming. She sighed softly, her head resting against his shoulder. Encouraged, he dragged a hot path up her neck, pausing below her ear. She never would’ve considered the intimacy of such a small part of herself, but when he licked her there, his teeth gently grazing her sensitive skin— she gasped, her body arching against his. It felt like a shock, his tongue a tingling rush that sparked her sensitive nerves. </p><p> </p><p>He was… intimate, sensuous in a way she was not accustomed to. She sighed, contented, and for a moment she was taken back to the heat of the hot springs. For a moment, it was Steve’s arms around her, Steve’s lips on her skin. Her breath caught in her throat. Distantly, she wondered if this was how it would be from now on. On missions where she let targets use her, take their pleasure from her, would she feel him in their touch? Would their hands become his? </p><p> </p><p>A pit opened in her heart— she tried to suppress that thought but it seeped into her like poison. Storm Bringer lightly took her earlobe between his teeth and Natasha shuddered, her breath ragged. Her hand settled on his wrist, clamping him tightly.</p><p> </p><p>Storm Bringer paused, his breath hot on her skin. “Are you happy?” he asked softly. </p><p> </p><p>The question caught her off guard and her eyes fluttered open. That didn’t matter. She wished he would just take her, use her and get this over with. Taking control of the situation, Natasha interlaced her hand with his, guiding his palm down over her belly to rest on her thigh. Slowly, she gathered the fabric of her shift, bunching and folding it carefully to unveil her legs. His breaths were slow, even as he watched, his hand frozen under hers. When she exposed the soft skin of her thighs, she guided his hand beneath her shift to touch her. He was hesitant— she could feel the pounding of his heart against her back, hear the way his breath quickened as she took his hand and moved him higher. Storm Bringer slid his hand along her inner thigh, his stimulating fingers sweeping her sensitive skin. She made a pleasured sigh, exaggerated what she felt as she rested the back of her head on his shoulder. Perhaps she might learn to enjoy this, or at least accept this. Closing her eyes, she imagined he was someone else. </p><p> </p><p>“Natasha—” It sounded like a warning. She hadn’t answered. He wanted to know. </p><p> </p><p>Why did he have to make this so complicated? “I’m happy,” she finally answered. </p><p> </p><p>He drew a breath and withdrew his hand. He paused a moment, holding her tightly, his face buried in her hair. “Do you mean that?” he asked as he carefully nuzzled her. </p><p> </p><p>His voice made her quiver. Why did he care so much? Dread settled over her like a terrible weight. Her fingers drifted up his forearm, her gaze fixed on the wall. “I do,” she said. “I’ve wanted nobody but you, Thor.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause, her words settling over him. For a moment, she was worried she had misspoken. “Natasha,” he breathed, moving to plant a kiss on her jawline. She could feel him smile— hear the mirth in his voice. She had made him happy. She blinked in confusion. His kiss shocked her, unpleasant, accusing. She felt sick. That wasn’t even her name. She didn’t have a name. The pit in her heart widened into a gaping maw, filled her with dread, emptiness. He paused again, drawing a nervous breath. She could not think, his touch suddenly overpowered her and she trembled.  Why was this happening? Her world spun dangerously out of control, but he shattered it apart completely with his next words.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you.” </p><p> </p><p>She froze. Her mind went totally blank. This was not meant to happen, this was not part of the mission. </p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t aware she had bolted from his grasp until the bitter chill of the night air hit her through the thin fabric of her shift. She could hear Storm Bringer call for her— he sounded alarmed. Tears burned her eyes. She hesitated by the door, one hand on the handle, eyes searching the sky overhead. Waves of green, purple danced in the inky blackness above in a strange array of light that washed the world in green. It was strange, it was wrong. She should turn back, apologize, lie there and take it, use his love against him so that she could graduate, find peace, find what she had searched her whole life for.  </p><p> </p><p>Instead she ran. </p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Haha uh oh! I'm genuinely interested in what you thought was going to happen for the wedding chapter. Leave a comment if you like! </p><p>Huge thanks again to my beta reader for helping me put this together. It was kind of a rough week, so I really couldn't have done it without her help. </p><p>Some notes for this chapter:<br/>The wedding ceremony mentioned here is called handfasting. It's not a Viking tradition, though it may have been used in some Viking marriage ceremonies (I just think it's such a beautiful tradition). The vows Storm Bringer says are inspired by a few different sources-- "Chains do not hold a marriage together" quote by Simone Signoret, "Blessing of the Hands" by unknown, and "You touched my hand and reached my thoughts" by unknown. Read them here if you're interested: https://bit.ly/3czSneJ</p><p>I might do two chapters next week provided things go well for me haha.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Beloved</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The chill of the night air burned in Natasha’s lungs. She ran without direction, without thinking. She ran from the light of the village and into the wild green of the fields and pastures. She followed the aurora, the twisting array of light above until she was out of breath. When she suddenly hit uneven ground, her ankle turned and she fell with a cry, tumbling into the damp grass. </p><p> </p><p>She was cold, shivering in only her thin shift. The grass soaked through the fabric, chilled her knees and bare feet. Strangely, the sensation steadied her as she panted, staring at her hands. The realization of what she had done, what she had<em> failed </em>to do, finally hit her. She didn't kill Storm Bringer. She couldn’t do it. He loved her.  Natasha gritted her teeth, her fingers curling into tight fists. Why? How could he say that? He didn’t truly know her. Turning to look back at the distant village, Natasha watched the flickering torchlight, listened to the distant echoes of revelry below the glimmering streams of greens, purples and blues. The night had a dangerous wildness to it, a strange kind of magic. It was the kind of night people disappeared into. Maybe that was what she wanted.</p><p> </p><p>Overhead, there was the distant roll of thunder, a flash of lightning above the sea. It made her tremble, filled her with a terror she could not fathom. She had never felt more alone. Suddenly, she wanted her sister, she wanted Yelena. Natasha stumbled to her feet, unsteady as she ran back. She wasn’t thinking anymore. It was instinct that drove her onward until she was back at her turf house. The place she had begun to think of as her home. It wasn’t really— none of this was hers. She threw open the door, eyes wide, only to find it empty. The hearth was cold, the room was dark. Yelena was gone. </p><p> </p><p>Somehow, she knew she wouldn’t be here. Why would she stay, when she had faith Natasha would go through with it? Likely she was on her way back to the Red Room already. Natasha sobbed a laugh, her disappointment turning her to ice. She didn’t want to stay there a second longer and shut the door on the dark room, wandering away from the little cabin. She was a fool— she had ruined her chance at belonging, at finding a place in the world. The price of failure was death. All this struggling for survival, all the lives she had ended were for nothing. Tomorrow, the warlords would know she had failed; the Red Room would find out soon after. She would be stripped of her sisterhood, declared nameless. They would hunt her down and kill her. </p><p> </p><p>A cold and familiar wind whipped her hair, stung her cheeks. The smell of the sea clung to her like an embrace. She looked up to find she had wandered to the cliff side, the place she had once come to be alone. It felt like a lifetime ago now. Natasha was drawn to the bluffs, seeking direction, clarity. But just as before, she wasn’t alone. Steve sat by the cliffs, watching the curtains of colour before they disappeared into the blackness of the sea. He didn’t notice her. In the green glow, he looked unreal, ethereal. He looked heartbroken. </p><p> </p><p>Anger, fierce and burning, lanced through her. What else could she do? She laughed bitterly, hysterically. Of course she would find him. Of course it would be him. He was always there, always with her. Why did he have to show her herself? She knew the sound of her laughter now, she knew what it meant to smile. Why did he have to show her openness and vulnerability and trust and friendship? He showed her a life she couldn’t have. He showed her the person she might’ve been and she gave up everything to chase that stupid dream. Tomorrow she would pay for it, and every day after that until her time ran out. He had ruined her. </p><p> </p><p>She had let him. </p><p> </p><p>So she laughed. When she heard Steve approach, she backed up a step, her eyes flying open, fists clenched painfully tight. She was livid, burning with hatred, ready to fight. But Steve didn’t say anything, he just looked pained, his expression downcast. Carefully, he unclasped his cloak and drew it around her shoulders. It was still warm from his body, the heat and immediate relief on her numb skin. It smelled like him. The fight went out of her and Natasha buried her face into the wool with an empty sob. Her knees buckled and Steve caught her before she collapsed, holding her upright. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>The muscle in his face jumped as he clenched his jaw, his hand hesitantly resting on her back. They stood in silence, Natasha clutching his tunic tightly, afraid to let go. She wished she could hate him for what he’d done. But she couldn’t. It was her own weakness that had destroyed her in the end. Now she was rudderless, adrift on an unfamiliar sea. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore, but in his arms, she felt like she belonged. The notion that had come to her the day she had kissed him came flooding back— <em> Never let me go. </em>Her eyes slid shut and she breathed in his scent. </p><p> </p><p>“Natasha.” His voice rumbled through her, making her heart flutter. “Let’s get you back inside.” </p><p> </p><p>Silently, Steve let her go, moving away from her to take her hand instead as he led her back to the dim light of the village. Part of her feared he was taking her back to Storm Bringer. Part of her wished he would. She wished he would give her direction, set her back on the true path. She would be grateful if he told her what to do…  But he only led her to her abandoned turf house instead. It was as dark and empty as she had left it. Steve entered ahead of her to light the hearth fire. The warm glow revealed the familiarity of her bed, her chair, her clothing trunk. It felt strange, somehow. The fire dispelled the green of the dancing lights filtering through her window, illuminated Steve’s strong profile, high cheekbones and honeyed hair. The sight of him soothed her. She felt like she could breathe again. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha shut the door behind her, latching it closed as she dropped his cloak onto the floor. She wanted to be near him. She was pulled to him like a moth to flame. Steve looked up at her as she stepped into the light and she suddenly was aware that she was standing before him, wild and nearly naked. He took her in, his eyes lingering over the outline of her body through her shift. Heat crept into her face and down the nape of her neck and he quickly looked away to tend to the fire. Natasha curled her hands into her shift, unable to hide her thoughts anymore. <br/><br/></p><p>She wanted him to look. </p><p> </p><p>It might’ve been a shock once, but there was an openness to her now, a vulnerability. Maybe that was what having nothing left meant. She was beginning to admit the things she wanted, the man she wanted.</p><p> </p><p> “Steve,” she said.</p><p> </p><p> He frowned and stood abruptly. “I should go,” he said quietly. He moved to leave, gathering his cloak from the floor. She stopped him with a light touch on his arm and he froze, his gaze fixed on the door.</p><p> </p><p> “Look at me,” she said.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t. He couldn’t. He wasn’t free of what bound him the way she was. It was as though she lived outside of reality, looking in. It gave her clarity, purpose, courage. Gently Natasha reached up to cup his cheek. His breath ghosted down her wrist as he let her turn him to face her. When he did, he looked just as lost as she felt. She traced the ridge of his cheekbone, smoothing her thumb across his skin. For a moment, he leaned into her touch just as he had the day he had kissed her. There was so much uncertainty in his eyes. He took her wrist, pulling her away.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t,” he said softly, his eyes were downcast. He didn’t let go of her wrist.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s lips parted. She took a half step closer, craving his warmth, but he shied away. It hurt more than she could bear. Steve let her go, a rueful little smile on his face.  </p><p>“I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?” he asked. He searched her, perhaps expecting a response, but Natasha had none. “I was never meant to get so close to you, Natasha. I was supposed to spy, to find out about you, find out what you knew. I know my purpose, my use. I can’t be myself, I know that…” He let out a slow breath, his eyes finally meeting hers. “I’m the worst kind of man. I’m selfish, I’m a liar— I’ve lied to you, to everyone I’ve met.” He shook his head in disgust. “I’ve used you, Natasha.”</p><p> </p><p>Her lips quirked into a little smile. If only he knew that she had done the same to him. She used him again and again. Even now, she used him. It’s all she knew how to do. “I don’t care,” she said. It was all over now, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>He laughed at that, perhaps surprised by her response. It was bitter, humourless. “It doesn’t matter anymore, I suppose,” he said. “Whatever happens, this is goodbye.” His eyes were so blue, so pained. “Tomorrow I’ll be gone. I’m… no longer needed.” <br/> </p><p>That was fine. Tomorrow, she wasn’t needed anymore either. They were both walking shadows, it seemed, unable to escape their fates. There was a strange calm to that. It was an act of rebellion, an act of resignation to stop fighting against her life. She wasn’t strong, or kind, or any of the things she had been told she was. She felt free. At last, she felt free. And a free woman could admit what she wanted. <br/><br/></p><p>Natasha closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his. He was warm, unmoving, his lips softer than she remembered. She felt him break a little, felt him lean into her. He shuddered a breath when she pulled away. “Then stay with me,” she said. “Just for tonight.”</p><p> </p><p> Steve’s lips parted, watching her through hooded eyes.  “Natasha…”</p><p> </p><p>She stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of him. If this was her last choice to make, then she made it. If she was going to fail this mission, let her fail it here, with him. Natasha took his hand and placed it on her waist, easing him up her body, guiding him to touch her, feel her curves. Steve’s breath hitched, his thumb unconsciously stroking her through her thin clothes. He watched her through his lashes, his eyes striking, beautiful. She pressed his hand over her heart, over the tie of her shift, and met his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>There was a beat where he just breathed, watching her with his hand over her heart. For a moment he looked troubled. He seemed afraid of what this was becoming. Perhaps he sensed an ending as well— there would be no coming back from this.</p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” she whispered, “I want you to.” <br/><br/></p><p>Steve exhaled softly, his eyes leaving hers to drift down as he took hold of the tie of her shift between his index and middle fingers. She expected violence, passion. She expected him to tear her clothes from her, grab her, possess her, and for it to be quick and fast and breathless. That was what she was trained for.  But that wasn’t his way. Steve never broke her gaze as he slowly pulled the knot undone and let the ends dangle loosely down her front. Heat flushed through her body like a wave as he slowly unlaced and parted the vee of her shift, his knuckles grazing across her collarbone. It was as if he was baring her soul, stripping her of any final defenses to expose her heart. This felt far different than what she had expected. <br/><br/></p><p>Panic flickered through her, but she was mesmerized, powerless to do anything but watch him as he undressed her. Steve flicked his gaze back to hers, watching her reaction as he slid his hand beneath the fabric to touch her. Her body came alive then— her skin pebbled with goosebumps, heat flooded into her cheeks, her belly, along the nape of her neck. A soft noise escaped her as his calloused hands followed the neckline of the garment, opening the split of her shift wider, peeling it from her as if unveiling a precious relic, a gift. His palm glided across her skin as he took his time, thumb tracing along her collarbone, hand sweeping along the curve of her neck until he traced her shoulders. Natasha was wound so tightly she could hardly stand it. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for— she thought she knew. <br/><br/></p><p>Her face was flushed with heat as she finally met his eyes— green to blue. If she could be looked at like this just once, even just for tonight, it was enough. She wanted this. Whatever this was. She wanted it. Natasha took his hands in hers, drank in the surprised little look on his face, savoured the way his lips parted, before she looked away. Together with him, she slid her shift from her shoulders and the thin garment slipped away, whispering down her skin before pooling around her ankles.</p><p>  </p><p>She watched the floor, the flicker of dancing light casting shadows on the bunched fabric. Her heart pounded so wildly, the pause between them unbearable. Steve let out a shaky <em>oh</em>. Natasha dared to look at him then— his hand hovered by her waist as if afraid she’d disappear if he touched her. She shifted to carefully cover the scars she had gotten from missions, hide the evidence of her life from him. Let him think she was perfect. Red crept into his cheeks as he looked at her. “A Ghrá mo Chroí,” he breathed. He met her eyes then, and she flushed. Slowly, he reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, thumb smoothing over her temple. “You’re beautiful.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha felt her brows turn up, felt heat rush into her cheeks. When he looked at her, she felt seen. She felt as though he was looking into the deepest parts of her and pulling them to the surface. She didn’t feel stained or broken. She was a polished jewel, a strong woman, a kindhearted woman, a woman deserving of love. She wanted it, she had chosen this— but she was afraid. It was the same fear that drove her to run from Storm Bringer. She didn’t understand how to accept affection, how to give it in return. She didn’t understand any of this. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha swirled with sensation, with uncertainty. Every instinct in her screamed that she was ruining this, that it wasn’t meant to be this slow, that it was meant to be about him. She was forgetting how to do this. She was an instrument, her body a tool meant to seduce, to conquer. That’s how this was supposed to go. It wasn’t about her, it was only about what she could do for him. Natasha corrected her mistake. She grabbed him and kissed him hard. Steve grunted in surprise as her hands tore at his belt, undoing it quickly and tossing it to the floor. She kissed to claim him, to entice and ensnare. She rocked her hips into his, drawing a shuddering groan from him. Kicking her shift away, Natasha grasped the hem of his tunic, pulling it up to his waist. But Steve stopped her. Gripping her wrists, he pulled her hands away from him. </p><p> </p><p>“No, Natasha,” he said against her lips. She flushed immediately, fearing she’d done something wrong, that he’d changed his mind. A small, irrational part of her feared maybe he’d catch on to her, see her for the sham she really was. The thought made her tense and Steve let out a little breath before he chuckled softly, his head tilting to the side as he appraised her. What was this? Her training told her this was meant to be fast, impersonal, but Steve wanted something she wasn’t sure she had. He cupped her face before he leaned in to kiss her cheek, his fingers trailing along her jawline. She was trembling, though she couldn’t account for why.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha pressed into him, her voice small as she whispered, “I thought you wanted—”</p><p> </p><p>Steve cut her off, his forehead against her temple to speak in her ear. “Aye, I want you <em> slowly</em>,” he said, his voice a husky, velvety purr against her.  It sent shocks through her and she shivered, her fingers curling into his tunic. Steve touched her, delicately tracing the curve of her hip. He drew in a breath and it made her tremble. “I want you intimately, Natasha.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha turned her head a little, her heart racing at the notion, and Steve pressed a kiss on her temple, his lips moving to her hairline. The gentle brush of his lashes on her skin drove her mad. She swayed, her breath catching in her throat. Desire bloomed in her core, her mind softened, her fear dissipating a little. Even if she didn’t understand this, she knew she trusted him. “Tell me what you’d have me do next,” he said.  </p><p> </p><p>She drew in a breath, trying to collect herself.  “Take off your shirt,” she said.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha could feel his smile against her skin before he backed up a step and pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it unceremoniously to the floor. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t already seen— broad shoulders, a narrow waist, lean muscle, and an athletic build, but a thrill shot through her to think that it was hers. That <em> he </em> was hers. They both paused, Steve’s eyes drifted over her with a sense of quiet awe. He flushed as he studied her like she was a work of art. Colour bloomed in her cheeks and Natasha drew her hand across her face, willing the heat to stop. She had never been looked at like this— like she was breathtaking, wondrous. It made her shy. </p><p> </p><p>“What?” she asked softly. Steve was silent for a moment, drinking her in, and she flushed harder, curling inward a little. She’d been naked many times before, bodies were just tools— but the way he looked at her made her feel bared, defenseless, new. “<em>Steve.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>When he grinned at her flustered response, she felt she might burst. “Sorry,” he murmured, taking a step closer. “What will you have me do now?”</p><p> </p><p>What wouldn’t she have him do? Her mind whirled at the thought, her muscles coiling in anticipation of his touch. But she was blank. It frightened her to realize she didn’t know what to do. All she knew was seduction, distraction. Her training told her to keep her guard up, stay in command, but that didn’t feel right for what she wanted with Steve. “Kiss me,” she said. It was the only thing she could think to want. </p><p> </p><p>He gave her an impish smile and heat blazed into her cheeks. “As my lady commands,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha felt the heat of him, the radiant warmth of his bare skin as he stepped closer. She was awash with anticipation, her insides drawn taut as a bowstring. Her chin tilted up slightly, lips parted in breathless expectation. But Steve gently took her hand instead. Turning his face into her wrist, he planted a kiss over the delicate tracery of her veins. Every follicle, every pore came alive. Her mouth fell open to protest, but it came out as a shuddering sigh. True to his word, he was taking her <em> slowly</em>. She fully understood him now— he was going to tease and explore every inch of her until she came apart. The thought made her weak. Her breaths became shallow, her knees wobbly. Steve smiled against her skin, before dragging a hot path up her forearm with his mouth. Natasha opened her mouth a little wider, her words dying in her throat as he placed a suckling kiss into the crook of her arm. She shuddered, powerless to resist as he continued higher, his touch unbearably stimulating.  “Don’t,” she finally managed to gasp as he moved to kiss her collarbone. Natasha swallowed hard, trying to collect herself enough to speak. “Don’t tease me.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve chuckled and buried his face against her neck as he pulled her into him. Their bodies pressed together and he hummed at the contact, soft and low. That sound, the heat of him, awakened something within her that she’d never felt before. She hooked her arms around his neck, pressing closer. His bare skin on hers was a heady rush she never knew she wanted, and Natasha was quickly enveloped in something so foreign, so wonderful, that she gave herself completely to it. But he was still intent on having her his way— his mouth charted the hollow of her throat, and she tilted her head back with a sigh. It was electrifying, overwhelming. But the unintended effect was that she was becoming vastly impatient, needy. She missed his lips on hers. “Kiss me <em> properly</em>,” she finally managed. A part of her hated that she sounded so small, so pleading.</p><p> </p><p>Steve hummed in acknowledgment, the vibration pleasant against her. He moved just shy of kissing her, his words a maddening, hot rush against her mouth that frayed her nerves, made her unable to think. “As my lady commands,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>He pulled her into him, and before she could think, his lips were on hers. It was as though something within him had finally broken. He had shed all pretense, all hope of salvaging her wedding night. There was no more denying what he wanted, no more pretending they were only friends. Natasha inhaled sharply, her body arching into his, fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders, his back. This was desperation unlike anything she’d known. He kissed her like there was no promise of dawn, no sunrise, no ending. There was no tomorrow— the world ended here and now with his lips on hers. </p><p> </p><p>Steve gripped her, his hands achingly slow on her body and Natasha whimpered, needing more, needing <em> him. </em>Her mouth fell open, her breath catching, mingling with his. They backed across the room, stumbling for purchase. They upended her chair, knocking it to the floor with a clatter as they moved, until her back hit the wall and Steve kissed her there so slowly, so sweetly that her toes curled. Her hands found the back of his head, her fingers grazed across his shorn hair and into his soft waves to keep her grounded. She knew where this would end— heartbreak, pain she would never forget or be able to bury. He would undo her if she let him. <br/><br/></p><p>She wanted nothing else.</p><p> </p><p>They drifted onto the bed, Steve careful to never break the blissful contact with her lips, as she lay back, folding him between her legs to settle him atop her. Her hands came to his back, gripping tightly as his mouth stroked hers until she was drunk with the feel of him, the smell and taste of him and she broke away for air. Steve resumed his study of her neck, and Natasha squirmed and wound her hand tightly in his hair as Steve moved lower, kissing his way down, content to discover which places were best to touch her. She closed her eyes, biting her lip in anticipation. When he paused, mouth hovering above her sternum, she nearly pouted, and met his gaze. His breaths were panting, hot and damp against her and he flicked his gaze to meet hers. His eyes were bright with desire, lips kiss-swollen and red, but he didn’t move. He was waiting for her command. Natasha’s insides flipped, her skin tingling with the mere idea of it. Her breath quickened, her body nearly vibrating with need.</p><p> </p><p> “Touch me,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Steve’s smile stole her breath away. His eyes drifted down, long dark lashes veiling his beautiful blue eyes as he nuzzled against her. His answer was hot against her skin, his lips caressed her with each word. “As my lady commands,” he said. <br/><br/></p><p>Natasha closed her eyes again, letting go of any fear, any doubt as Steve did as she bade. He was unhurried, measured. Taking her slowly. She could’ve lived forever under him as he used his hands, his lips and tongue to discover other places she never knew she needed touched. By the time he kissed just above her navel, Natasha was all sighs, her hands curled into his hair, the bedding. He kissed lower, his hand framing her hip as he braced above her. Natasha swallowed hard. His breath was hot, and her stomach twitched involuntarily at the sensation. There was his smile again— the pull of muscle in his face, the brief graze of teeth on her skin. He was enjoying this, maybe a little too much. Steve nipped her, and she sucked in a breath, her knees squeezing his sides, her fingers curling more tightly into his hair. He chuckled and his tongue laved over the mark, drawing a soft little noise from her. He was taking lessons from what she had done to him, it seemed. </p><p> </p><p>When Steve’s thumb brushed over the scar just beneath her hip, Natasha flinched, her eyes flying open to stare at the ceiling. She could feel him frown before he lifted his head to examine the ragged flesh. She was thirteen when she had gotten that—a large, ugly reminder of what she had done to graduate from ‘girl’ to ‘sister’. Natasha swallowed hard, pushing the awful dread from her mind. It made her sick that these memories had physical manifestations. She had collected a handful over the years. They littered her body like brands and she hated the presence of each one. She would be grateful if he ignored it, but it was too big, too <em> ugly </em> to ignore. Steve traced the shape of the scar again and Natasha braced herself on her elbow to watch as he outlined the mark delicately, like it still might be painful to touch. </p><p> </p><p>She flushed and Steve glanced up to look at her questioningly. He looked like he might ask her about it, but she reached out and gently pressed her fingers to his lips and shook her head with a faint smile. She didn’t want a reminder of what she truly was, she just wanted to stay in this moment. </p><p> </p><p>Steve stroked thoughtfully over her scar again, his breaths soft on her skin, his long lashes like curtains as he traced the shape of her old wound. She wished he’d stop looking at it, that he would ignore it as she did and pretend he’d never seen it. But her breath hitched when Steve turned to press a loving kiss over it instead. Something about that gesture made her heart drop, a soft breath escaping her as her hand cradled the back of his head. </p><p> </p><p>Steve kissed the mark again, as if trying to ease the pain of whatever had happened to her years ago. His lips were soft on her ragged skin and Natasha lay back in a daze, staring at the gables above with her hand still twined in his hair. He nosed at the scar and she was suddenly overwhelmed with indescribable warmth. It was as if he was introducing himself to her. For a moment it felt like he understood who she really was, what she had done. She blinked, her eyes blurred with tears. Steve moved to resume exploring her but she quickly took his hand instead and guided him to feel another scar on her ribs. </p><p> </p><p>That was from her first real mission as a sister. She was fifteen; the woman she had garrotted had fought back. Steve paused, tracing the mark with his fingers. She could feel him looking at her, but she watched the ceiling, focusing on the sensation of his rough hands tracing her scar. Steve shifted. Silently, he moved to nuzzle her ribs, his lips gently closing over the damaged skin. </p><p> </p><p>This time, Natasha whimpered, her eyes drifting closed. It was if he knew what she had done, and loved her anyway. Steve skimmed up her waist, hands spread wide, searching. His thumb dipping over each rib before finding another mark just beneath her underarm. She sighed when he found it, raising her arm to give him access. That one had nearly killed her. She had faltered on a mission, let fear cloud her judgement. The Widows had admonished her for it, telling her she wore her cowardice and failure like a brand. Each mark she wore made her damaged, undesirable to her targets. She was lucky they weren’t on her face, she was told. They have no use for her then. Steve carefully traced the length of the scar and his lips followed after like medicine.  Natasha trembled, her hand leaving his head to cover her mouth as a sob threatened to break from her. This feeling growing in her was almost more than she could bear. It was more than she ever knew she wanted. <br/><br/></p><p>It felt like forgiveness. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha turned her head away to hide the tears that slipped from her as Steve gently kissed her old wounds. She sighed shakily, her heart pounding in her chest as she quickly dashed the tears from her cheek and returned to slide her palm down his shoulders and back. </p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” she finally said, willing herself not to sound so shaken. But her voice was thick with emotion. </p><p> </p><p>He hummed and planted one last kiss on her shoulder before shifting onto his side to look at her. Perhaps he expected her to issue another command, but as soon as he saw the look on her face, his expression softened. It was difficult to describe how he made her feel. Her mind danced around the emotions whirling in her, unable to name any of them. Natasha rolled onto her side, to face him. Slowly, she traced the sharp planes of his jawline, the handsome features of his face. He was a collection of sensation; tactile, inexplicable. She mapped him— her hands hungrily tracing down his body to survey the light dusting of hair on his chest, the warmth of his skin and the flex of muscle beneath when he moved. Steve let out a long breath, goosebumps creeping across his chest and shoulders at her touch. Natasha explored the way he flinched when she ran her nails across his stomach, the way he shuddered when she skimmed the shallow indentation of his navel and the hair that trailed just below. He was nearly trembling under her touch, but he was patient, doing his best to keep still for her.</p><p> </p><p>Shyly, she pressed another soft kiss on his lips. It was hesitant, a brief expression of what she felt for him in return. Steve melted into her with a soft hum. Her hand drifted down his belly to the waistband of his pants. He exhaled sharply, breaking away to watch as she unlaced the tie.</p><p> </p><p>“Natasha—” he breathed. </p><p> </p><p>It felt strange, but she didn’t want to belong to the Widows. She met his eyes. “Make me yours,” she whispered against his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Steve kissed her. It was cataclysmic, breathless, everything she ever wanted, so much more. Natasha turned onto her back, guiding Steve down on top of her. Their kisses were wildfire— hot and passionate. There was no strange energy, no electric touches. Just his body on hers, his mouth on hers. They moved slowly, their exploration of one another was tender, synchronous as Natasha undressed him and his remaining clothes were discarded and abandoned on the floor. If tomorrow truly was the end, then tonight she would choose this. She would choose him. </p><p> </p><p>Slowly he moved into her and Natasha cried out softly, her nails digging into his back as her body arched into his. She relished his tight grip on her, his shuddering sighs and breathy cries into her hair, his lingering kisses on her skin. When he called her by her name, she was whole, she was who she wanted to be. Natasha—just Natasha. She’d never felt so safe, so complete. Natasha’s heart raced, her body sang. She interlaced their fingers as Steve rocked between her thighs and made her his.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>😜 I'm sure it's fine. </p><p>Chapter maaaaybe on Sunday? Somewhere around then?<br/>Follow me on twitter for updates (@YeetaNo).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Secrets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the quiet darkness of the turf house, Natasha dozed, listening to the crackling of the fire burning low in the hearth, the steady beat of Steve’s heart as she rested on his chest. His fingers trailed slowly down her arm, then back up. She was… happy, she decided. Safe. There was a lightness within her that she couldn’t explain. Part of her wished she could stay like this with him forever— just like this. It was a foolish notion. She drifted on the edge of rest, slipping in and out of contented sleep, her mind at ease. Perhaps it was trust that let her sleep like this with him as her pillow. It was a total release, a freefall into the unknown, but he was there with her.   </p><p> </p><p>When the bed shifted, it was her training that woke her. Her eyes opened a crack to spy Steve sitting on the edge of the bed, his troubled expression illuminated by the warm flicker of the fire. He massaged his face tiredly, before he buried his face in his hands. Natasha swallowed, a pit of anxiety opening in her core. Was he ashamed of what they’d done? She watched him, her fingers slowly toying with her wedding band. Setting aside his duties didn’t seem as easy for him as it was for her— though she supposed that was down to her nature. She was transient, fluid. She had no future. But Steve had just betrayed his lord in the worst possible way. It weighed heavily on him, it seemed. </p><p> </p><p>She propped herself up on her elbow, head resting on her shoulder, her hair cascading in red waves across her torso as she looked at him. “I hope you’re not thinking of leaving,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Steve didn’t look at her, his lips pursed. Objectively, she knew that he should. It would be easier if he did now. If she waited until morning, she may not be able to make herself leave him. But Natasha sat up to touch him, her hand tracing across his shoulder and over the ink on his back. She was beginning to understand why the Red Room demanded devotion to the true path, why they demanded Widows forsake intimacy and affection. She wanted him. Steve sighed and leaned into her a little.  </p><p> </p><p>“Do you regret what we just did?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>He looked at the floor. “No,” he said. She pressed a kiss on his shoulder, relieved to hear that, at least. She never wanted him to be ashamed of her, or himself. “Maybe I should, but I don’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha traced the branches of his tattoo, following the lines down his back as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. “Then what’s troubling you?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve was silent for a moment, rubbing his palms together thoughtfully. “I… I don’t know what to do anymore,” he said.  “My path was so clear to me, but… now I don’t know.” </p><p> </p><p>She was quiet, watching her fingers as she traced the ink on his back. Steve was as astray as she was. Perhaps it was her that led him to this fear, this uncertainty. She pushed that notion aside and leaned in to kiss his cheek, studying his pained expression. She wished she could have the magic words to help him, but she had none. </p><p> </p><p>Steve’s brow furrowed. He sighed heavily and looked at her at last. “Why did you run?” he asked. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha paused. Of course he would want to know that. She wasn’t meant to be back here with him in her bed. She was married to another man. “I…” She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. She had no answer that would satisfy him. She would never give him the truth— that she had chosen him over her mission. “I wish I knew,” she said.  </p><p> </p><p>He was quiet, studying her. “I thought you loved him,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>“I know,” she said. It would’ve been easier if she had played along, let Storm Bringer have his way with her. She still couldn’t explain what came over her. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you?” he asked. “Love him?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha was quiet for a moment. She couldn’t give him reassurance, couldn’t lie to him. “I know I’m scared, Steve,” she said. He wasn’t letting her retreat so easily. He was silent, waiting for her to elaborate. Natasha pursed her lips, unsure of what to tell him. That she was doomed? A nameless sister? She studied her hands as she spoke. “It… I think this all became too real. I… I prefer lies.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve looked away again to study the floor. “Is that what this is?” he asked softly. “A lie?”</p><p> </p><p>It was. Natasha was only the version of her that she wanted him to see. Their time together was nothing more than a beautiful dream. When sunrise came, there would be no escaping the truth. She would return to being a nameless sister, married to her target whom she had failed to kill. But she didn’t want that truth. She rejected it with everything she had, gave herself over to the woman she had become when she was with him. Tonight, that was who she was.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha reached out and guided Steve to look at her. She met his gaze with a soft smile before she leaned in and kissed him  sweetly, passionately. Steve made a soft noise, leaning into her touch. Gently, he cupped her face, his lips finding hers. He wanted this lie as much as she did. She kissed him onto the bed, onto his back, following him down until she lay on top of him. She showed him what this meant to her— that this was real, realer than anything she had known. Steve gathered her closer, accepting her kisses until they became truth and he was left breathless, his arousal clear. </p><p> </p><p>When she pulled away to settle over him, he looked up at her in a dreamy haze. Her feelings weren’t lies. This didn't feel like a lie. Slowly, she sank down onto him with a short gasp. Steve sucked in a little breath, his hands flying to her waist to hold her. She smiled and kissed him again, but he squirmed a little, his brow furrowed. He seemed uncertain of what he was meant to do in this position, his expression lost. Natasha breathed a little laugh— he was so earnest. His eyes were wide, watching her with such vulnerability. It reminded her of teaching him to swim. She ran a hand down her body, before her fingers found and twined with his. Leaning forward, she pinned his hand above his head, her hair falling in a curtain around them. Steve’s lips parted, soft and endlessly kissable and she leaned in to claim them again and again. He yielded to her, his mouth hot, pliable and she rewarded him with a chaste kiss on his lower lip and a slow roll of her hips. </p><p> </p><p>Steve’s breath caught in his throat as she began to move. Natasha imagined herself like a wave on the ocean, fluid, rolling, cresting. She kept it slow and Steve was quickly lost in the feel of it— his face was turned to the side, mouth open slightly, eyes closed in complete surrender. Their first time, she hadn’t really studied his reactions, but she was relishing the opportunity now. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha breathed a little laugh and kissed his neck, humming contentedly as she hooked her feet beneath his legs. Taking her time required every ounce of discipline she had, but she wanted this to last. His eyes were still closed, his head tilted back as he made a soft noise. Natasha smiled and leaned in to touch her forehead to his. With his free hand, Steve cradled her head, threaded his fingers through her hair to pull her down into a kiss. His lips captured hers languid, sloppy, his fingers curled to grip her hand where she kept it pinned over his head. </p><p> </p><p>Something within her was breaking, shattering her apart. He had seen her heart, saw who she truly was, deep down. She wanted to be that woman. Natasha couldn’t place the feeling, dancing around it like a word on the tip of her tongue. “Look at me,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>He did. </p><p> </p><p>He was beautiful, his eyes half open, lips parted in breathless pleasure. Natasha released his hand to touch him, her thumb sweeping along his cheek. She held his gaze, met the clear blue of his eyes in the flickering warmth of the hearth fire. <em>  I see you. </em> She wanted him to know it, to feel it. She saw him, just as he had seen her. He was her friend, her partner. She smiled at him. Her lover. Steve blinked, his expression soft. She cupped his cheek as she rocked above him. <em> I know you. </em>She touched his lips. <em> I know you, Steve.</em> </p><p> </p><p>It was the closest thing to the truth she could give him. This was real. This wasn’t a lie. </p><p> </p><p>He saw something in her eyes that broke him and she felt the moment he became hers. It was a look of trust, of vulnerability that she never wanted to forget. She burned it into her heart, let it sink into her marrow. His eyes slid shut as he turned his face into her palm to kiss her. “Natasha,” he whispered, his breath hot against her hand. His lips caressed her when he spoke she gently skimmed the delicate crescent of his dark lashes. They were as soft as she imagined.</p><p> </p><p>This couldn’t last, she knew. Nothing could last. As she moved, Steve intuitively began to move with her, his hips rising to meet hers as he tried to match her rhythm. He quickly came into tune with her, finding out her pace and soon they both panted, a mutual sharing of breath like a secret between them.  In this moment, she was his, he was hers, and nothing else mattered. </p><p> </p><p>The thought should scare her— they were twined, fated, both of them powerless to resist. For now, she didn’t want to. Part of her worried that she <em> never </em> would want to. If she could choose, then she never wanted to be anywhere but by his side. She didn’t understand it, <em> couldn’t </em>understand it. But she gave herself to him, to this moment with him until they both let go. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha collapsed on top of him, panting. Her head curled on his chest to feel the rapid beat of his heart, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. They lay like that a while, their breaths the only sound between them before Natasha sighed and rolled from him to lie at his side once more.</p><p> </p><p>Neither of them had anything left to say and Natasha drew herself closer to him. Steve gathered her in his arms, catching his breath with a sigh. For her own purposes, she needed to remember this moment, how it felt to be with him like this. She began to memorize him— the smell of him, the sound of his heart beneath her head, the feel of his skin beneath her fingers. She took each piece and wrote it into her mind, her heart. She never wanted to forget this, forget him. They lay in a tangle for a long while, Natasha soaking in every second of this dream while it lasted.  </p><p> </p><p>She traced his ribs, following the shape with the pads of her fingers and he made a soft hum, his eyes drifting shut, a tiny smile playing at his lips. He was ticklish. Natasha smiled shyly and tucked her head against his shoulder as she smoothed her fingers down the soft skin of his stomach. She marvelled at the way his body was knit together, how strong and lean he was. It didn’t escape her that he had no marks on his body— no scars, no trace of hardship or violence. She liked that about him.  </p><p> </p><p>“What are you thinking?” he asked. His voice rumbled through her, deep and low as his fingers trailed down her back. </p><p> </p><p>It was their closeness that made her answer honestly. “I wish we could trade,” she said, her tone light, dreamy. “You’ve no marks on you.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve rolled onto his side to look at her. “Aye,” he said. He looked troubled, his jaw clenched tightly. He took her hand and guided it to his chest. “I’ve nothing to show for all the trouble I’ve been through.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha watched her fingers as she drew patterns on his skin. “It’s better that way,” she said. She wished she didn’t have to carry anything with her.</p><p> </p><p>Steve was quiet for a moment, ruminating. Clearly, he didn’t feel the same way and it ate at him. Natasha waited, her hand over his heart, until he was ready to speak. “Others have died,” he said. “They fought and bled. They wear their scars…” He took her hand and traced her fingers in a diagonal line across his chest from his pec to his side. She imagined the bite of a broadaxe in place of her fingers. “But not me.” </p><p> </p><p>Her brow furrowed, and she met his eyes. He looked at her and her heart dropped. This was the price of the lie they lived in. She had his complete trust. She had the sense that she could ask him anything and he would tell her. It made her ashamed, guilty— she wouldn’t do the same.  Steve sighed, his attention drifting back to her hand on his chest. “The night the warlords came… It was like the world had ended.” Steve placed her finger tips below his clavicle, pressed them into him like the point of an arrow. Natasha’s lips parted. “All those people, all that suffering…”  He guided her fingers up his cheek, a vertical stroke through his cheekbone, over his left eye like the slash of a blade.  “And I have nothing to bear?”</p><p> </p><p>An edge of bitter anger laced his tone. It made her heart ache to hear it. Natasha skimmed her hand across Steve’s face and his gaze fell, the fight going out of him. He had no anger left, it seemed. He had nothing left to give to this. Gently, she leaned in and kissed his brow, above his eye, his cheek— all the places he had marked himself, before she pulled him into her. He exhaled shakily, his face hidden against her neck, arms wrapped securely around her. </p><p> </p><p>“Would it change anything if you were scarred, Steve?” He didn’t answer her. They both knew it wouldn’t change a thing. Natasha smoothed her hand through his hair and he curled against her. She could feel his loneliness, his heartbreak. She kissed the top of his head before settling down with him. “It’s not your fault,” she whispered. He drew a sharp breath, his hands curling tightly into her hair. Natasha nestled closer, watching the flickering of the hearth fire. “It’s not your fault, Steve.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve nearly broke then. He buried his face into her hair, and she held him tightly. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. His mother’s death, the massacre of his friends and neighbours— none of it was his fault, and yet he bore it like it was. Whatever had happened to him that night hadn’t left any scars, but it didn’t mean he was unscathed. She ran her hands down his back, smoothing along his skin. He held on to her so tightly, she feared he’d never let go. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha closed her eyes, lying with him as he trembled in her arms. She had the sense that he had never confronted his losses, that he never stopped long enough to let grief touch him. Her heart broke for him. She kissed his shoulder, murmured soft assurances, held him as tenderly, as affectionately as she dared. It was a long while before he let go, gradually, slowly. He was silent, unmoving as he collected the pieces of himself and put himself back together. <br/><br/></p><p>“I need to tell you something,” he finally said. His voice was soft, serious. </p><p> </p><p>Shades of Storm Bringer’s confession of love lingered and fear possessed her once more. She was frightened of whatever he had to say. She didn’t want his secrets, his feelings, not really. Not when she couldn’t have him. “Don’t,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>“Natasha—”</p><p> </p><p>“Tomorrow,” she said, “tell me tomorrow.” </p><p> </p><p>He seemed thoughtful, and pulled away a little, his expression pained. “Will you be here tomorrow?” She couldn’t answer that. Instead she nuzzled against him, holding him close. Steve pressed a kiss into her hair and she closed her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“You said you wouldn’t be,” she said. She sounded so small. She never wanted this to stop. </p><p> </p><p>“I would for you, Natasha. I would if you asked me to stay.” </p><p> </p><p>Staying was a death sentence. He didn’t understand that. If she stayed here, she would draw the Red Room down on them, or be forced to complete her mission. Both options filled her with dread. She didn’t want this to end. “And… if I asked you to run away with me?” She knew it was a foolish thing to ask, but she wanted to run and never stop. She wanted to live, to hold onto this. </p><p> </p><p>She felt Steve curl to look at her, but she didn’t want to see his expression. Eventually, he resumed his thoughtful exploration of her hair in silence. She knew what his answer would be before he ever spoke. “I… I can’t,” he said.  She knew he couldn’t. She knew she was being foolish. It still hurt. He smoothed her hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Who hurt you so badly?” he asked. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha stared at the shadows cast from the hearth fire, watching them flicker and dance. “Nobody,” she said softly, her fingers resuming their slow path across his ribs. “Everybody.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve fell into pensive silence. “Tomorrow,” he said. “It can wait until tomorrow.” She raised her head to look at him and he gave her a sheepish smile. “I just want to wake up with you in my arms,” he said.  </p><p> </p><p>She wanted that more than anything. Natasha smiled, truly, warmly and he grinned in return. He was so sentimental. She laughed at that. “Eager to sleep are you?” she teased. “Is that how you want to spend the rest of our night?” </p><p> </p><p>Steve’s smile melted her heart. “No,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>“Then what did you have in mind, Steve?” </p><p> </p><p>He laughed and she wished she could keep the sound with her always. “I’m sure we’ll think of something,” he said and Natasha laughed as he rolled her beneath him to pull her into another searing kiss. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It was early morning now, the grey light of the coming dawn peeked through the shuttered windows. Natasha traced the tattoos on Steve’s back as he lay facing away from her. He had finally drifted to sleep in her arms not long ago and Natasha felt herself following after him. The trust in his eyes, the gentle smile playing on his lips as he held her was something she wanted to fall asleep to every night if she could. But she willed herself to stay awake as long as possible, afraid to face the dawn, afraid to confront the notion that she was truly alone. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha planted a soft kiss on the runic inscription etched on his shoulder blade, and Steve sighed and rolled over in his sleep. His hair was splayed out behind him in soft golden waves, his lashes impossibly long and thick little crescents set into his peaceful expression. Watching him now, the strange, undefinable feeling that had been with her this whole night returned and she was finally able to give it her full attention. Her heart was full to the point of overflowing, she was strikingly warm, fluttering, impossibly happy.  She watched him, reaching out to graze his lips before she nestled against him to listen to the sound of his even breaths, his steady heartbeat. </p><p> </p><p>Her brow furrowed. Was this… love? Her heart pounded so loud at the notion that she thought she’d wake Steve.  Natasha held him, her arm slipping around his waist as she began to fall into sync with the rhythm of his body. Steve’s face shifted into her hair and as she lay there with him, staring at the wall until her eyes grew heavy. She thought she couldn’t feel love, that she would never feel it, and she never deserved to. But she’d never known happiness like this and the thought overtook her as she began to fall into sleep with him. It was so strange, so all-consuming that she felt compelled to say it aloud, to test her theory. </p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” she whispered into the silence of her room. “I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>As soon as she said the words, she knew they were the truth— she was deeply in love with him. Steve slept peacefully and she smiled in disbelief before nuzzling more closely against him. She toyed with the idea of waking him just to tell him that, but she could barely keep her eyes open now. He had asked if she would be here tomorrow, and now she had decided. When she woke, she would tell him. She imagined his expression, the way he might look at her when she told him the only truth about her that she wanted him to know. The thought excited her. She wanted to wake up next to him, she wanted to see him in the morning. She could think about her next moves later. Natasha relaxed and let the rise and fall of Steve’s even breaths lull her into a dreamless sleep. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bam! Another chapter! Everything is fine in SteveNat land-- I'm nice like that ;) </p><p>Another chapter... Next week sometime? Yeah?<br/>Follow me on twitter @YeetaNo for updates.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Gratitude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Thank you to Kalopsia for the To Be Worthy inspired art! (follow them on twitter: @McAwsome_n and IG: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/kalopsia.mb/">https://www.instagram.com/kalopsia.mb/</a>) </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the pale grey light of dawn, Natasha was pulled from sleep by the cold press of steel on her throat. Immediately, her eyes snapped open to stare up at Yelena, blade in hand as she glared down at her. Natasha froze, the bob of her throat shifting the knife when she swallowed. Her heart hammered in her chest as she stared up at her sister in alarm. Silently, Yelena gestured for her to move and Natasha slid quietly from Steve’s arms. He shifted and rolled over in his sleep and Yelena’s sharp gaze fell on him instead. As she watched her sister appraise Steve like he was nothing more than an inconvenience, Natasha went cold. She knew Yelena was calculating how fast she could cut his throat if he woke to find the two of them. She imagined how her sister would slash her neck open first, then turn on Steve before he could register what was happening. It would be quick, undignified. It’s what Natasha would’ve done, if it were her. It made her sick.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha raised her open hand pleadingly, hoping that Steve would stay asleep, and Yelena’s flinty stare flicked back to her, her anger and disappointment clearly written on her face. Slowly, Natasha slipped from under the covers to stand and Yelena scoffed in disbelief at her nakedness. It was a confirmation that she had not only failed her mission, but slept with someone who wasn’t her target. A flush of shame crept into Natasha’s cheeks as Yelena backed her from the room toward the door. She stole one last fleeting glance at Steve’s sleeping face before Yelena pressed the blade threateningly against her throat and shook her head in warning. Natasha kept her gaze on her sister as she backed her into the quiet chill of the outside air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Yelena quietly latched the door shut behind them, she lowered her blade from Natasha’s neck and returned it to its sheath. Natasha stared at her feet as her sister wordlessly removed her cloak and draped it over Natasha’s shoulders to clothe her. She was empty, the magic of last night shattered as reality began to set in. Her sister brusquely fastened the cloak around her and pulled the hood up to hide her hair before she gripped her by the elbow and walked her away from the turf house, away from Steve. They entered the copse of trees, marching deeper into the woods until they were safely out of earshot, and then Yelena squeezed her arm hard and spun her around. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you thinking?” she hissed, her voice low. Natasha had no answer for her and Yelena frowned, her brows knit into a stormy expression. Silently, she withdrew Natasha’s discarded dress from under her arm and shoved it to her chest. The silence grew long between them and Yelena continued, trying desperately to understand why she had compromised herself in such a manner. “I came to check on you— I wanted to see your handiwork, be the first to congratulate you. But Storm Bringer’s abode was empty and instead I found you with Runt, sleeping so deeply you did not even wake until I had my blade pressed to your neck.” Yelena’s eyes were bright with anger, with bafflement. She waited for a response, for some kind of justification as to why Natasha had chosen to fail, but she had none to offer. Yelena narrowed her eyes. “You should be halfway back to the Red Room by now! You should be calling yourself a Widow!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha blushed, unable to explain to her sister why she had abandoned her mission. The true path had been their whole world and for Yelena, it still was. She couldn’t understand why Natasha had second guessed herself, why she had abandoned everything she had worked so hard to become for a night with Steve. Yelena studied her face, her expression cooling as she stared at her in utter disappointment. “You got cold feet, sister?” she asked, “Was that it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha frowned as she clutched her dress tightly and chose to say nothing. Yelena snorted at her lack of response and continued her tirade. “So— so what? You threw yourself at the first man who said something nice to you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha’s gaze snapped to her sister, anger whirling within her. She didn’t want her to talk about Steve, especially when she made him out to be something he wasn’t. It was more than just a fling, what she had done with Steve wasn’t just meaningless sex. “Stop,” she warned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Yelena was not deterred, she leaned in, a careful smile playing on her lips. Natasha knew the expression well— she had taught her that one— it was an emotional manipulation technique, a coercion tactic…  “What was that then, a pity fuck?” Yelena taunted. Natasha gritted her teeth, her hands clenched into fists around her dress. She knew her sister was egging her on, goading her into revealing the truth. “Was he a warmup for the main event? Did you feel you needed practice, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Natasha</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rage overtook her and Natasha slapped her hard across the face. Yelena backed off, her brow furrowing deeply at Natasha’s reaction. They fell into tense silence as Yelena stared at her, puzzled, her fingers flying reflexively to her cheek. There was a terrible pause between them where Natasha was certain she would beat her if she spoke one more taunting word. But Yelena’s gaze flicked to her in sudden, horrified realization. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sister…” she said softly, “do you have feelings for him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha’s stomach dropped and she hid her reaction as best she could, her gaze falling on her bare feet as she stood on the cold dewy ground, anticipating Yelena’s next cutting response. But Yelena was silent, instead watching her sister with growing concern. Natasha knew she couldn’t hide this from her, but she couldn’t make herself say it, either. It didn’t feel right to say what she felt to anyone. She was supposed to tell Steve this morning, she was supposed to wake up in his arms. Yelena took a half step forward, her voice gentle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does he know what you are?” she asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hot, black shame flushed into Natasha’s face at her sister’s words. She could barely speak for a moment it weighed so heavily on her chest.  “No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena seemed relieved to hear it. They both knew the punishment for becoming compromised on an undercover mission. Widows had no use for assets who couldn’t keep their identity hidden. “And him— does he love you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha paused. Was that what Steve had been trying to tell her last night? She had been afraid to hear it, afraid that if he told her that, she’d never leave him. Was it something much worse than that? Yelena pressed further, her voice laced with concern. She truly seemed to be trying to help.  “Did he ever tell you he loved you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha frowned, reluctant to admit that he hadn’t. That hadn’t mattered, it still didn’t. Him being with her said it all. “He… Sister, the way he looked at me,” she said, remembering Steve’s kind eyes, his gentle smile. “The way he— he touched me…” Yelena looked worried for her and Natasha wished she could explain what last night had meant to her. “He made me feel so loved.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Yelena said bluntly. “Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Natasha, your cover identity.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha shook her head, rejecting her sister’s words. “No,” she whispered. Yelena didn’t understand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t know you, sister. He doesn’t love you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sliver of despair sliced into her heart. She knew that was the truth, but Yelena didn’t understand the way Steve had held her, talked to her, loved her. “No,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Yelena leaned in and gripped her shoulders, making Natasha look at her. Her eyes were wide, her cheek bright red where Natasha had slapped her. She was frightened. “Sister, you aren’t her,” she said, a pleading edge to her voice. “You aren’t who he thinks you are.” Natasha deflated, her hope beginning to fade.  “You can’t ever be that woman, you know that.” She paused, searching Natasha’s expression before giving her a gentle squeeze. “Sister, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha did know that, deep down. She was someone else. She was willing to pretend she wasn’t if it meant she could be with him. But she’d never let him see what she really was if she could help it. “I… He’s good, sister. He’s kind. He…  He made me better,” Natasha said. She sounded so childish, so naïve. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena gave her a strange look, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Better?” She sounded incredulous. “You know better than anyone what we have done for the Widows. We are killers, Sister. We are liars, thieves, mercenaries. You aren’t here by chance, meeting him isn’t fate, you were sent here to bed Storm Bringer and cut his throat while he slept for a ridiculous sum of money.” Natasha’s eyes welled with tears. Each word was a barb in her heart. She knew it was true, she knew deep down that’s what she was. Yelena’s expression softened and she took Natasha’s hand. “We were chosen for this and that man— he does not erase what you have done.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha couldn’t look at her anymore and her eyes fell to the forest floor. It was a dream to be with Steve, to be loved by him. It was worth living for, worth abandoning this mission. She had a taste of what life could really be, she could give up on being a sister and be Natasha instead. “I know,” she said, “but— I…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sensing her hesitation, Yelena moved in, trying to make her see her mistake. “If you fail to execute your mission, it’s war with the Storm Bringer and the old warlords. Will your lover abandon that fight?” Natasha already knew Steve wouldn’t— he had told her as much. She clutched her dress tightly, her knuckles white. “And even if he did, if you ran with him, then it’s war with the Widows and you know what happens to defectors,” she said softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha did know. She had been tasked with killing runaway couples like her and Steve, even entire families. Whatever the Widows asked, she did. She had left a trail of ruin in her wake, destroying lives, happiness. Did she really deserve to try and find her own life after what she had done? Was it fair that she could assume Natasha’s identity like a mask, hiding the worst part of her from the man she loved? Was it fair to put that on Steve?  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena very carefully brushed Natasha’s hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. Truly, Natasha was ashamed that this had to be spelled out for her, but she was still clinging to the love she had discovered last night. Someone like her didn’t deserve it, but now that she had tasted it, she greedily tried to keep it for her own. Yelena smoothed a thumb across Natasha’s cheek and she trembled, her resolve crumbling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’d be dragging him into all of that and he doesn’t even know what you are. The Widows would hunt you down, hunt </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> down, and he’d never know why until he was gutted and flayed by one of our brothers or sisters. How might he look at you then? Do you think he’d thank you for it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha shook her head, her eyes burning with tears as she rejected her sister’s words. Yelena didn’t understand how carefully he had touched her, how tightly he had held her. Part of her knew she was right— Steve didn’t know what he was truly getting into with her. He didn’t know the real her. If he did, he’d never stay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena paused for a moment, her voice gentle like she spoke to a wounded animal. “If he’s really as good and kind as you say he is, then you’ll ruin him.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha broke, tears spilling silently down her face. She had been clinging to the illusion that she could escape this life, that Steve would be with her, that they could escape together somehow and she could be the woman he thought she was. But her sister’s words destroyed that hope. Yelena spoke the truth. Truly, she was nobody. A parasite, poison. The realization broke her into a thousand little pieces. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When Yelena pulled her into her arms, Natasha clung to her tightly, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. They were never very affectionate, it served no purpose to make connections like this, but Yelena buried her forehead against Natasha’s shoulder as she hugged her in a tight embrace. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying to save you,” she whispered. “Sister, please see sense. You can’t have this life. None of us can.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a moment of weakness, but Natasha sobbed, her heart broken. She sagged to the ground and Yelena held her as she smoothed her hair down her back. Natasha mourned the life she couldn’t have, that she never deserved to have. She had been foolish, naïve to think otherwise. But it didn’t stop her from admitting her feelings, from making one final, feeble attempt to be her own person. “I love him,” she said softly. “I loved him…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena was silent as she held her, her grip tight around her. She cradled Natasha’s head gently as she cried, her hand smoothing her hair in little circles. “I know,” she said finally. Her tone implied that she</span>
  <em>
    <span> did </span>
  </em>
  <span>know. That she understood this pain. “That’s why you’ll let him go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha clutched her tightly as she hid her tears against Yelena’s shoulder. She cried and clung to her sister until she was spent and shaking in her arms. When she no longer had any tears left, Yelena pulled away and brushed the tear tracks from Natasha’s cheeks, her gaze calm and reassuring. She gave her a comforting smile as she soothed Natasha’s flushed skin.  “There is still time,” she said softly. “You can still do this mission.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>She could. She was worthy of nothing, destined for nothing, and Steve didn’t need that. She would pull him down into darkness with her, stain him by being with him. Maybe she already had. In the span of one night she had convinced him to stay with her, to commit adultery, to lie to and betray the man he served. He told her truths about himself, given her honesty and she had lied to him, coerced him, gave him aliases, and deceit. Worse still, she would continue to do it forever if it meant he kept looking at her like she meant something, like he loved her. She knew she didn’t deserve him, that she should take this second chance that her sister offered. But she couldn’t make herself let go of her sister. She couldn’t make herself move. Her heart wasn’t in any of this anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was broken. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena smoothed her hair in silence, holding her tightly. It was long enough that the sun was rising. The village would be waking up soon. Distantly, she imagined Steve waking to find her gone. It was punishment to imagine his crestfallen face to wake up alone, to know that she had used him and left him. She was running out of time to make a decision. Part of her didn’t want to, anymore. She was tired. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What can I do?” her sister asked quietly. “What can I do to help?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. She gave a short, humourless laugh. “I have nothing, sister.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, Yelena spoke. She sounded uncertain, troubled. “There is a place for you with the Widows,” she said. “I know there is. Don’t give up hope, sister.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena moved away, and fumbled in her dress pouches for a moment before she withdrew a small, black leather flask. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha was numb as she watched her sister remove the stopper.  “What is that?” she asked softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her sister swallowed, her expression grim. She was silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on the flask as if calculating whether or not to tell her. “Soldier serum,” Yelena finally said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha frowned. That was the drug administered to Red Room Soldiers. It sent them into a mindless trance, a hyper focused state that made them unable to feel. “Why do you have that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena stopped the flask with her finger and tipped it upside down. The blood-red mixture dripped from her fingertip. “It’s from my mission before,” she said. Natasha didn’t know the details of the mission Yelena was pulled from to help her, but something didn’t sit right. She met her sister’s gaze and Yelena gave her a tiny, uneasy smile.  “This can help you, sister. But you must be clear in your intention. You have to want this.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena took her hand and squeezed it tightly. Natasha’s gaze drifted to their interlaced hands. She squeezed her in return. Yelena was risking everything to help her, to guide her back into the light. Natasha drew a steadying breath, her eyes sliding shut as she resolved to bury her heart, to shut off these unwanted emotions. It was foolish to allow herself to become this soft. When she opened her eyes again she was numb, shattered. But she would reshape herself as she always had, pick up whatever remained of her spirit and mold herself into something stronger, something better, just as she was taught. If she wasn’t strong, she was dead, and this had nearly killed her. But she was better than this. She could be better than this. She’d conquer this just as she had conquered every ounce of pain in her life. She was a Widow, and she would rise above. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Give it to me,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena smiled softly, relieved to see her back. Natasha imagined how frightening it must’ve been to see her elder sister in such a compromised state. But she was grateful it was Yelena who found her, who comforted her. She had given her a second chance. Her younger sister leaned in to touch her forehead to hers for a moment before she pulled away and raised her hand to her lips. The serum ran like blood, thick and viscous down her finger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha opened her mouth and Yelena touched the drop of the bitter liquid to her tongue. She swallowed it down and watched as her sister returned the flask to her dress before she held her hands as the drug took effect. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take long. Her world became brighter, her mind clearer. Natasha inhaled deeply, her eyes sliding shut. All thoughts of heartbreak and loss and grief faded. All the noise, all the pain that held her back faded into nothingness. She felt in tune with herself, with her body. It was a relief unlike anything she had known. She was unburdened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Natasha whispered. “Thank you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her sister’s face was luminous, bright. She didn’t understand her expression. “It will only last until late tonight,” Yelena said. “I only gave you a tiny dose.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The words drifted over her, through her like a balm. Natasha could breathe again. Her heart was light, her mind sharp and clear. She felt clean, pure. “It’s enough,” she said. Her mind seemed to flutter, her thoughts sped and scattered like dandelions gone to seed. Natasha was aware enough to know she needed recalibration. She knew Soldiers required it when they were sent on missions in their heightened state. They needed to have direction. “Set me on the true path,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Yelena paused, and Natasha didn’t understand her hesitancy. Slowly she reached out and cupped Natasha’s face in her hands. They were cool, steadying. It focused her mind, sharpened her gaze. “What is your name?” She asked softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her answer came as easily as breathing. She knew this. She trained her whole life for this. “I have none,” Natasha replied. “I am a sister of the Red Room.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena’s voice seemed to gather in her mind, driving her into a state of complete understanding. It was blissful awareness. There was no more doubt. “Sister of the Red Room, what is your purpose?” she asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kill the Aesir,” Natasha said. “Become a Widow.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“If you should fail?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha blinked. The question was ridiculous. “Failure is death.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yelena pulled away and pressed a dagger into Natasha’s open hand. She stared at it with a strange sense of euphoria, like she was coming home at last.  “Tomorrow what shall I call you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One by one, her fingers curled to grip the weapon. How good it felt in her hand. The euphoria she felt began to be replaced by something else, something much more dangerous. She gripped the blade, knuckles white. Rage. Berserk, untethered rage. Natasha met her sister's gaze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Black Widow,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>haha whoops! Some of you knew the happiness would soon run out. </p><p>A minor historical note: <br/>Berserkrs (or berserkers) were Norse warriors who fought in a trance-like fury and are the inspiration behind the Red Room Soldiers (it's also where we get the word "berserk" in English). There are many theories about how berserkir entered their trances, from hallucinogenic drugs, to self-induced hysteria, but the exact method is unknown. </p><p>Update next week! Follow me on twitter (@YeetaNo) for updates :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Time seemed to pass differently to Natasha. Her thoughts were fleeting beyond the single-minded focus on her mission. She felt no need to have food or drink or rest. She wasn’t certain how she came to be wearing a mission-standard outfit of a hooded black tunic and leggings, a face mask hung around her neck. It hardly mattered. </p><p> </p><p>She was in the safety of a small, enclosed little room, her sister by her side. Yelena was a constant, a guiding star. She seemed to shine like one, anyway. The sound of her voice curled around her like an embrace. When her sister spoke, she listened. </p><p> </p><p>“I will appeal to the warlords,” Yelena said. Her voice had a shimmering quality to it. “I will convince them to hold off on their attack until you have succeeded. You know what to do, sister.” </p><p> </p><p>She did know. She had a singular purpose, an unwavering dedication to the true path. Yelena disappeared and Natasha returned to her mission. </p><p> </p><p>She donned her cloak and set off into the village. She wasn’t out of place, nobody paid her any mind beyond a brief ‘good day’ or a nod. These walking shadows held no meaning to her. When she entered Storm Bringer’s manor house, it wasn’t strange or suspicious. She was his wife. Natasha felt nothing to think of that notion. It gave her a tactical advantage.</p><p> </p><p>She ascended the steps to the loft where her target slept, her hands curled in anticipation. The rage within her swirled, her eyes widened, but he was not there. She relaxed again. Surveying the room, Natasha found a place to hide between the slanted roof and the support beams against the far wall. It wasn’t easy to get to for the average person, but she was nimble and flexible and she easily scaled the beam and tucked herself behind it. Natasha was aware enough to know that she was outmatched against him during the day. She waited instead. Waiting was easy— she was a patient hunter. Her sister’s words curled in her mind in a faded swirl. The dosage was tiny. She had until late tonight.</p><p> </p><p>That was enough. </p><p> </p><p>She felt nothing— no fear, or excitement, or nerves, or urgency. Time slipped away with her thoughts. She couldn’t be certain of the time anymore; there were no windows in the loft. She waited with a single-minded focus, an unrelenting, simmering rage that begged to be unleashed upon her target. </p><p> </p><p>It could’ve been minutes, or hours, or days. The air shifted in the room when Storm Bringer finally returned. She could taste the sharpness of ozone, feel the pressure of his presence, but it didn’t set her on edge anymore. </p><p>When she saw him, the rage swirled within her, making her gaze sharpen dangerously. His body language was slumped, defeated as he undressed for bed, his back to her. He seemed so vulnerable. It made her nearly lose her mind. But she was in control. Natasha turned back to watch the wall, completely at ease. She was focused. She would wait. </p><p> </p><p>It hardly felt like any time at all when  he lay in bed. Mjölnir was set on the floor, giving of a strange pulse of energy that tugged at her heart. She felt it through her haze and turned to look at it, to stare at the soft blue glow of the weapon. There was a soft roll of thunder overhead, and the pressure in the room seemed to lessen. She heard a shuddering little sound escape him. He sounded exhausted. It made her hairline tingle with anticipation. He was giving her advantage after advantage, delivering himself to her and her waiting blade. Natasha waited and waited until she heard the soft, even sounds of his breath. Only when she was certain that he was sleeping did she move. </p><p> </p><p>Mjölnir glowed softly, throwing the room into a bizarre abstract of light and shadow. Silently, Natasha slipped from her hiding place and dropped down into the room. Just as before, the Aesir’s hammer seemed to judge her. She could feel its presence nudge at her heart as if trying to look inside. But she was numb to it. Its presence was nothing to her now. She drew her face covering over her mouth and nose, raised the hood of her tunic to cover her hair.  Withdrawing her blade, she made her way to Storm Bringer’s sleeping form. Her weapon was cool and steadying in her grip and the rage swirled within her, her eyes widened as she pressed her knife to the Aesir’s throat— </p><p> </p><p>He turned over in his sleep and she couldn’t comprehend what she was looking at. He was smaller than she remembered. A short little Northman. She recognized the dark crescent of his lashes, his high cheekbones and full lips. Natasha’s lips parted. She knew the sound of his laughter, remembered the kindness in his clear blue eyes. </p><p> </p><p>She paused, her blade pressed to Steve’s throat, just under the jugular. She needed only to apply pressure and it’d be over. But… he wasn’t her target. For a moment, her brow furrowed in confusion, unable to understand, and in her moment of hesitation, Steve stirred in his sleep. The nick of her blade sliced the skin of his neck open. His blood seemed bright, luminous like glittering rubies. She was unable to move, unable to think. The pain woke him, and the moment he opened his eyes, she reacted. </p><p> </p><p><em> No witnesses </em>, her training told her. </p><p> </p><p>The next seconds were a strange blur. Her blade bit into his flesh, Steve grabbed her with a sharp cry, forced her hand away, reached into the empty air— </p><p> </p><p>She barely registered the blur of Mjölnir as it flew from across the room and into his hand. When it touched him, there was a blinding flash, a crack of thunder loud enough to rattle her bones. She saw stars and backed off, unable to touch him as he was enveloped in light, in lightning, in cosmic power. As the spots faded from her vision, he was different, transformed. Her target— he was her target. The rage boiled over, transformed her, too.  </p><p> </p><p>Frenzied, Natasha slashed at him and he reeled back as she darted away. She’d have to be fast, he’d kill her before she— </p><p> </p><p>Steve stood, towering and luminous, crackling with charged lightning. His eyes glowed electric blue, his hair and beard a shimmering blonde. Blood gleamed, bright red on his chest. She had cut him, made him bleed.</p><p> </p><p>It wouldn’t leave a mark on him, she remembered. Nothing marked him. She remembered tracing invisible scars on his body, remembered his lips on hers, his body on hers. A terrible hurt lanced through her, and she gritted her teeth, eyes swimming with tears. But she was possessed by a single minded focus, an unrelenting rage that made her unable to stop. She was a Widow. This was her mission. A wild scream tore from her, as she struck again, not letting him regain his footing. </p><p> </p><p>Steve swung Mjölnir and she dodged, the hammer narrowly missing her. She rolled as he brought the weapon down, smashing the floorboards apart. She slashed at him and he let go of the weapon to avoid her swing. He timed her strike and grabbed her. As she twisted away, her hood tore off. She couldn’t let him catch her. </p><p> </p><p>She used the bed as a springboard and jumped, scissored her legs around his neck and used her body’s momentum to throw him with her to the floor. He hit the ground with a cry and she rolled out of it.  In the split second he recovered, she tackled him and straddled him, pressing her blade to his neck. To her surprise, he gripped her, drew her closer. Lightning sparked from his eyes, and across his skin. It raced through her, made her cry out. He would immolate her— burn her to ash. She willed herself to cut his throat before he could kill her, but she was frozen, her body unresponsive. </p><p> </p><p>She looked into his eyes, the rage within her burning her from the inside out. Everything was too bright, too out of control. Why couldn’t she do it? Why? He would kill her unless she struck now. But there was something written in his expression that stopped him. </p><p> </p><p>Recognition. </p><p> </p><p>“Natasha?” he asked. His voice was soft, like he doubted his own eyes.</p><p> </p><p>She blinked at the sound of her name. It felt like hers. When he said it, it felt like hers. Her hand shook and she adjusted her grip on her blade. She was a Widow. He was her target. Storm Bringer… Steve… She couldn’t see through her tears. Gently, Steve reached up and pulled her mask down, revealing her face. He let out a shocked breath, his brows turned up in devastation.  She was numb as she watched his expression turn from disbelief to horror. </p><p> </p><p>The rage in her pulled her focus back. He knew her. He knew it was her. She shook with fury, with the swirl of berserk anger inside her. She was compromised. She had to kill him. She had to— failure was death. </p><p> </p><p>Failure was death… </p><p>Eyes wide, Natasha brought the blade up, and Steve moved to stop her, watching the gleam of the knife as it flashed between them. He just barely seemed to register that she was not striking for him. </p><p> </p><p>The sharp nick of the blade bit into the delicate skin of her throat, blood, hot and crimson streamed down her neck. She heard Steve’s horrified cry before the blade was wrested from her and Steve held her fast in his huge grasp, his arms around her back, hand cradling her head. Natasha closed her eyes and just listened to him breathe for a moment. He didn’t speak— what was there to say? She had tried to kill him. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually, Steve loosened his grasp on her and his forehead sank into her shoulder, his breaths uneven against her chest. The focus that had kept her going began to fade, enough for her to feel that she was left with nothing but a hollow pit in her heart. For a moment, he just held her and breathed. Natasha sagged against him a little, eyes tracing the runes tattooed on his back, for healing, he had said. </p><p> </p><p>Slowly, he took hold of her wrists, his hands like shackles. He moved away from her, and when he met her eyes, he was serious. </p><p> </p><p>“Who are you?” he asked. </p><p> </p><p>Whatever was left of the soldier serum kept her calm, numb. She met his stare with a blank one of her own. “Nobody,” she replied. </p><p> </p><p>He laughed at that, incredulous, his trust broken. “Who sent you?” he asked, “Was it one of the warlords?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll die before I tell you that,” she said quietly. </p><p> </p><p>Hurt flickered across his face and he looked away. He let her go, and stood to pace the room. Her fleeting thoughts began to return to her. Natasha watched him, studied the way his brow furrowed. Everything about him was so familiar. She turned her gaze to Mjölnir, lying on its side on the floor. Was this what he had wanted to tell her last night? That he was a god? Her lips parted in uncertainty, but Steve’s voice drew her from her thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>“You must’ve had me pegged from the moment you saw me.” He ran his hand over his shaven head in frustration. “And your plan was… what? Get up close, encourage me to trust you, go through with this marriage and… Oh.” He frowned and swallowed, his jaw clenched painfully tight. “You’re a Widow.”  </p><p> </p><p>She used to be proud to be called that. But it sounded repulsive now coming from the man she loved. Natasha watched the floor in silence. </p><p> </p><p>“I am,” she said, claiming the vile title for herself. </p><p> </p><p>Steve laughed bitterly, and buried his face in his hands, his body trembling. “I am a fool,” he said. She wished he wouldn’t sound so sad. “So stupid. I opened up, I let you in. I…” On their wedding night, he had told her something. Natasha remembered it now— he had told her he loved her. That stirred something within her, made her heart hurt. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. Steve shook his head, rubbing his face tiredly before he collected himself enough to look at her. “Why did you have to toy with me like that?” His question was so soft, so full of pain. It crushed her to hear it. “Was that part of it?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha made herself stand. The edges of her periphery were still too bright, she struggled against the pull of the serum. Was yesterday so long ago? It felt like a lifetime ago that she had him. His gentle eyes in the darkness of her room, the feel of his lips on hers, his beautiful smile felt like a distant, unattainable memory. She hadn’t meant to fall in love with him. That wasn’t part of it at all.  “No,” she said. “I—”  </p><p> </p><p>But Steve didn’t want to hear what she had to say. Why would he? How could she explain herself? In the end, it didn’t really matter. She had chosen her path. “Why did you stop?” he asked quietly. “You could’ve just cut my throat open and been done with it.” </p><p> </p><p>She sounded childish, naive. She was a stranger in her own ears. Nothing was making sense anymore. It felt as though everything was slowly slipping from her grasp. “Because I love you,” she said. She knew with certainty that that was the truth.  It was still true. It would always be true. </p><p> </p><p>Steve was totally still as her words settled over him, watching her in disbelief. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch him. She wanted to— she wanted to feel him. Only, she wished she could see <em> him </em>, not the inhuman glow of whatever magic this was. “I love you, Steve,” she repeated softly. </p><p> </p><p>As her words washed over him, his expression twisted with rage, with sorrow. He seemed to crumble at her words. He took her wrist before she could touch him. “Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice shaking with anger. Don’t you <em> dare </em>lie to me about that.” His voice broke and he couldn’t meet her eyes anymore. He drew a wavering breath, his tone pleading. “Not that…” </p><p> </p><p>Something within her broke. If it weren’t for the serum still coursing through her body, she might’ve been shattered by the weight of this unbearable pain. But she couldn’t feel much of anything. Part of her knew she needed to fix this, that it was important that she fix this. She looked at him, willing him to believe her. </p><p> </p><p>“Steve—” </p><p> </p><p>But he shrugged away from her. “Don’t,” he said. He shook his head in frustration, his lips pursed into a hard line. It seemed like he was barely keeping himself together. “I should’ve given up that name a long time ago.”  </p><p> </p><p>Natasha went cold. Something about that sentiment made her uneasy, but she couldn’t place what it was. Her head swirled, her purpose no longer evident. “But… that’s you, isn’t it? The real you?” </p><p> </p><p>Steve smiled unkindly. “Aye it was.” He held out his hand and Mjölnir flew to him. The pressure in the room increased to a near unbearable degree and Natasha’s breath caught in her throat. He examined the runes on the side of the hammer with a steady calm that made her heart sink. “But not anymore,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>It was so clear now. She had destroyed him.</p><p> </p><p>A tear slipped down her cheek and Natasha laughed, unable to do anything else. The clarity the Soldier serum had afforded her mere moments ago returned. She was a monster, and pretending otherwise was an indulgent fallacy that led her here. There was nothing she could say that would fix this. She was a liar, an assassin, but she’d killed the wrong man. </p><p> </p><p>Steve was silent, staring down at the ring on his finger with an unreadable expression. He twisted the little band of metal thoughtfully before he clenched his fist and turned away from her. “You should go,” he said. “I’ll tell everyone that I killed you, reduced you to ash when you nearly cut my throat. You should run, Natasha. There will be war tonight.” </p><p> </p><p>Even now, even after everything she had done, he was still trying to protect her. He was offering her a clean break, a chance to escape the Widows. Natasha closed her eyes, tried to numb this awful pain that was welling inside her. As the serum continued to fade, her loss became greater. The look of total heartbreak in Steve’s eyes when he looked at her destroyed her in ways the Widows never could. She drew a steadying breath, opened her eyes to face this. He had given her direction, purpose. The least she could do was give him what he asked for.  She slipped her wedding ring from her finger, eyeing it mournfully before she made her way to the staircase. Before she left, Natasha turned to Steve and cautiously took his hand. He couldn’t look at her as she uncurled his fingers to place the small band in his palm. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He stared down at the ring in silence. Part of her wanted more than anything to make him understand what she felt, but they were past that now. She was compromised, her cover unmasked and now Steve had only to regret that he had ever cared for her in the first place. </p><p>She curled his hand closed and planted a soft kiss on his knuckles. He was unmoving, totally still. </p><p> </p><p>“Goodbye, Steve,” she whispered, before she turned and left. </p><p> </p><p>As she opened the front door, she heard a crash from the loft above. Steve cried out in anguish before it was swallowed by the storm that swiftly broke open the skies above her. Natasha hesitated on the doorstep before she stepped out into the night. She had ruined every happiness in her life. She had destroyed the man she loved. </p><p> </p><p>Outside, rain lashed down in sheets, cold and unfriendly. Lightning split the dark, turning the inky sky into a blinding, stark white. The thunder that cracked overhead cleaved the night open and shook the ground beneath her feet as she ran, disappearing into the storm. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well it's gone from bad to worse, hasn't it? I know many of you predicted that Steve was Storm Bringer, so kudos to you if you got it right ;)<br/>Let me know in the comments if your theories have proven correct! </p><p>As for the next update-- maybe another chapter this weekend? We'll see. These shorter chapters are definitely easier for me to manage, but we're also at the part where I haven't pre-written any more large segments for a while. We'll see what kind of time I have this week. </p><p>Follow me on twitter (@YeetaNo) for updates!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Resolve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natasha ran headlong into the storm. The rain lashed her skin, bitter and cold. She put as much distance between her and the village as she could as if it would somehow ease the terrible ache in her heart. As the serum wore off, she fully felt the weight of what she had done. A ragged sob tore from her, tears tracked down her cheeks, hot against her chilled skin. She just kept running. Thunder rolled overhead and she pushed herself harder, trying to escape this awful reality. Her muscles ached, her lungs burned, the cut on her throat throbbed, but she made herself push through it. She wanted to hide her shame, her grief.  Soon she passed through the pastures, staying close to the treeline as she made her escape. The sky was beginning to lighten, her body flagging, her lungs burning as she finally stopped to rest.</p><p> </p><p>She’d never been out this far before; the hillside was relatively quiet in the soft, grey light. In the distance, the storm still raged, but she had outrun that at least. Natasha panted, leaning against a tree to steady herself. She couldn’t make herself look back. Part of her was afraid to. She let out a shaky breath and rested her forehead against the rough bark. </p><p> </p><p>Now that she had stopped, reality came crashing down around her. She had tried to kill Steve. She had made him bleed. Her mouth soured, her eyes squeezed shut. What did she have left? Natasha hit her head against the tree in frustration. Steve’s expression when he sent her away broke her heart. She wanted to go back. Even now, she wanted to go back. But Steve didn’t want her there. He didn’t want her. Not after seeing her for what she really was. </p><p> </p><p>She paused, nearly sick with grief. She hated herself. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha barely heard the whistle of an incoming blade as it flew past her head and stuck into the wood in front of her. She whirled in time to see Yelena descend upon her, blade in hand, face twisted with rage. Death to defectors, she knew. But she thought she’d have more time before the Widows hunted her. Natasha barely had time to react. Her sister caught her with a swift jab that glanced her cheek and she stumbled back. She didn’t have time to recover before Yelena swung for her again, her blade slicing through her hair as she leapt back. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena was fast, more in control. She snapped her leg out in a brutal kick that hit Natasha squarely in the chest and sent her reeling into the tree behind her. The air was forced from her lungs on impact, and she wheezed, her traumatized muscles barely able to take in air. But Natasha fought through the panic, her gaze focused on the gleam of Yelena’s blade in the early morning light. Natasha barely ducked out of the way as the blade sank into the wood behind her. She quickly stepped in and disarmed Yelena, putting her arm into a painful hold before throwing her to the ground. Her sister cried out in fury, twisting to get to her feet. She could finish this, she knew. Her sister’s blade was still embedded in the tree, she needed only to draw it, cut her throat and she’d be free. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha hesitated at the thought. She’d already destroyed one person she loved, she wouldn’t do it again. So she ran instead. Her sister’s enraged scream echoed behind her. </p><p> </p><p>“False sister!” Yelena cried as she recovered.  “Coward!” </p><p> </p><p>She bolted, winding through the trees. Her chest throbbed where Yelena had kicked her, and she was already exhausted, but she made herself keep going. In the end, her exhaustion won out. Yelena tackled her to the ground from behind. They went down hard, tumbling down a small embankment into the thicket below. Natasha struck her head, her shoulder as they crashed to the unforgiving forest floor. Her head swam, her body ached and she scrambled to get her bearings, but Yelena pinned her, her blade pressed to the cut already on her throat. </p><p> </p><p>There was a strange pause where they just panted, staring beaten and bloody at one another. Natasha could only watch her with a strange calmness, taking in her familiar grey eyes, her flaxen hair. For a moment, she was a child again, staring up at the shaking, trembling little girl with fear in her wide eyes. Natasha smiled up at her. <em> It’s alright </em> , she wanted to tell her. <em> It will be alright </em>.  Her sister’s eyes widened in rage. She leaned in, her blade pressed painfully to her throat. </p><p> </p><p>“Fight back,” she said. But Natasha didn’t move. She couldn’t struggle anymore. Yelena’s face twisted into a sneer as she watched her. She drew back and slapped Natasha hard. Spots danced in her vision and she blinked in confusion, her cheek on fire. Her sister shook her, pulling her closer by the neck of her tunic. “Fight back!” Yelena screamed. </p><p> </p><p>But Natasha didn’t want to anymore. It was like swimming against the tide. She was tired of this— she wouldn’t hurt her sister. She wouldn’t play the Widows’ game anymore. “No,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>There was a beat, Yelena’s breaths ragged as she stared down at her in disbelief. “I’ll kill you,” she threatened. “I have to.” </p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Natasha said. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena’s blade bit into her flesh, and Natasha looked up at her in the growing light. She snarled, her grip tight on Natasha’s tunic. But she didn’t do it. Instead, she hauled Natasha closer, studying her with frenzied rage. “Why?” she whispered.  “Why did you throw your life away?” Natasha smiled sadly. She couldn’t explain it to her. She couldn’t tell her sister that Steve was her target, that she was in love with him and would rather die than hurt him anymore.  Yelena narrowed her eyes in response to Natasha’s silence. “Coward,” her sister spat, her voice trembling with rage. “Disgusting, awful <em> coward </em>.” Natasha’s cheeks burned with shame. She swallowed hard.  “You threw away Widowhood for that fucking Northman, and you didn’t even have the courage to stay with him.” </p><p> </p><p>Her breath caught in her throat at her sister’s words. It hurt more than she could bear. She drew a shaky breath, her eyes swimming with tears as she stared up at her sister. “He knows what I am,” she said. Her tears spilled over, tracking down her temples and into her hair. “He doesn’t want me.” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena’s expression was icy and unsympathetic. “And now nobody does,” she said. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha bit her lip to hold back her tears and Yelena tilted her head as she appraised her. “You’re no good to anybody now,” she said, her hand tightening on her blade. “You’re useless, vile, worthless. But you’ve always known that, haven’t you?” Natasha’s heart sank. It was true, her life had always been an effort to prove she wasn’t those things, but the charade was over now. She had proven exactly who she was. Nobody. Always nobody. </p><p>“Now what, sister?” Yelena asked, her lips twisted into a sneer.  </p><p> </p><p>She had no answer. There was nothing left for her. She had destroyed her chances with Widows, destroyed the man she loved. She was alone, left to confront who she really, truly was without alias, or lies, or paths to follow. She didn’t know what to do, what to want. She didn’t know who she was. When she was silent, Yelena shook her again, her expression furious. “Answer me!” she shouted. “What do you want?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha trembled, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. It was always there, beneath the surface. That same, simple question. She had never known how to answer it before, but after everything she had been through, maybe now she did. She wanted a life of her own. She wanted the freedom to choose. She wanted to laugh freely, feel happiness, and sadness, and kindness. Another tear slipped down her cheek. She wanted all the things she couldn’t have, that she was convinced she didn’t need or deserve. “I want…” Natasha swallowed, watching her sister. What she wanted was so simple, but it was always just out of her reach. “I want to be loved,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>It was unbearable to admit aloud. She sounded like such a child. But it’s what she had searched her whole life for. A place to belong, people that loved her. People she loved in return. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena froze, her eyes wide, her brows turned up in devastation. She sagged, her grip flagging until she let her go. Natasha could only watch as her sister crumbled, her expression broken.  “Did I not love you, sister?” she asked quietly. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s lips parted, her chest unbearably tight. Of course she had. Yelena had loved her before anyone else. But the Red Room never let them show it, the Widows would pit them against one another if it ever came out that they cared for one another. Natasha reached up and smoothed her flaxen hair from her face. Yelena trembled, her eyes bright. A tear slipped down her cheek and Natasha brushed it away. “You did. I know you did. You are my sister,” she said. “And I love you.” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena burst into tears, burying her face into Natasha’s shoulder. She trembled, her body wracked with sobs. “Stop it!” she cried. “No, you don’t! You don’t!” </p><p> </p><p>“I do,” Natasha said. </p><p> </p><p>Her sister gripped her tightly. “You don’t love anyone,” she accused. “You abandoned the man you love. You abandoned me.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s heart broke. Her eyes prickled with tears as she stared up at the sky, washed grey with the light of dawn. Stars still glimmered overhead, faintly twinkling like pinpricks framed by the inky silhouette of towering spruce trees. Her sister spoke the truth. As much as she wanted to be loved, she ran from it every chance she got. She was afraid to take it. Natasha held her sister tightly. “Come with me,” she said. “The Red Room— it’s no life, sister.” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena was silent for a moment before she drew a steadying breath and moved to get off of Natasha. She sat up, watching the distant tangle of trees as though she could see through them to the village beyond. In the distance, thunder rumbled, lightning flashed. Natasha’s heart sank, dread prickled across her skin. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s no life for you,” Yelena replied. Her jaw was clenched tightly as she seemed to consider her next words. She looked deeply troubled. “You’re too weak, too fickle, and spineless to take it. You’d rather be with the masses, have your destiny shaped to those stronger than you.” She turned her gaze on her at last, and Natasha bristled.  “I’ll be the one to shape it, then, since you’re such a fool.” </p><p> </p><p>“Sister—” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena smirked, her expression cruel, though Natasha could see the hurt in her eyes. “I’m not your sister,” she said. “You don’t get to call me that anymore, nameless woman.” Natasha flinched as if her sister had struck her. Those words hurt more than any beating. Yelena got to her feet. “I wanted you to succeed. I truly did. But helping you was never my primary goal. The Widows sent me here on a different mission.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha frowned, her heart sinking. Despite throwing away her fealty to the Red Room, part of her still desperately wanted their attention, their <em>approval</em>. Her sister’s words broke her in ways she didn’t know were possible. The Widows hadn’t cared about her fate. She was merely a distraction. If she succeeded, then it benefited them by removing a threat like Storm Bringer, if she failed and was killed, then Yelena ensured they didn’t come away empty-handed. The revelation left her with a swirl of emotions she couldn’t even begin to untangle. Her hands curled into tight fists as she fought through what she felt to focus on what this truly meant. Her sister was trying to tell her something and as much as it hurt, she needed to listen. Her mind reeled before she remembered a few things that hadn’t sat right with her. The Solider Serum and— <em> In case the Widow fails.<br/></em></p><p>The warlord’s scheme. </p><p> </p><p>“The mines,” Natasha said, her heart racing. “What were the warlords truly searching for?” </p><p> </p><p>Yelena smiled. “Insurance,” she said. “Strucker chose this place for a reason…” Her smile faded, her expression laced with fear. Unease prickled down the back of Natasha’s neck before her sister collected herself. “Those old fools aren’t so brainless after all. There is a weapon here. The Red Room sent me to obtain it for their use.”</p><p> </p><p>Calm washed over her and Natasha got to her feet, her eyes deadly focused on her sister. If the Red Room thought it was important enough to potentially sacrifice two of their Widow candidates to obtain, then it must be powerful. Not the kind of thing she wanted them to have, anyway. If she was a monster, it was because they had taught her to be one. Monsters like them didn’t need more power. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena seemed to gauge Natasha’s response, appraising her coolly. “You won’t stop me.” </p><p> </p><p>She levelled her gaze on her sister. “You sound sure of yourself.” </p><p> </p><p>“I am,” Yelena said. She fixed her eyes skyward and Natasha turned to follow her gaze. A plume of dark smoke billowed into the brightening sky. The wind carried faint screams over the hillside. Fear raced through Natasha and she whirled back to her sister in alarm. She gave Natasha a sad little smile. “The Widows offered Strucker Soldier Serum in exchange for a share in the weapon if it proved viable.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s mouth went dry. An army of berserk Northmen under the old warlords' command would be a disaster. Thunder boomed in the distance— that was Steve. He would be fighting by now. Even if the warlords had a thousand berserk Northmen, it would do them no good against a thunder god. </p><p> </p><p>Yelena’s voice drew her attention back to her. “If you are thinking Storm Bringer has an advantage, don’t.” Natasha frowned. Her sister knew something. </p><p> </p><p>“The weapon—”</p><p> </p><p>Yelena fished out a small red leather flask, from her tunic. There was fear in her eyes and she handled it with a level of care that demonstrated her apprehension of the seemingly innocuous object. “Strucker calls it Eitr,” she said, “god killer.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha went cold. Steve was in danger. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked. </p><p> </p><p>Her sister smiled ruefully. “Because I think you’ve already made your choice, haven’t you? You can stop me, make sure that this never gets to the Red Room, or you can go to him.” </p><p>Thunder crashed in the distance, and Natasha fought the urge to bolt. She had to warn him. It didn’t matter if he never wanted to see her again. She could live with that, or learn to anyway. But the thought of him dying was unbearable.</p><p> </p><p>Yelena laughed softly, her expression pained. “I hope I never see you again,” she said quietly. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha knew her meaning. Right now, she was effectively dead to the Widows and would remain so until Yelena returned to the Red Room. This was her sister’s final gesture of kindness, by giving her a chance to escape. If she saw Yelena again, she might not let her live next time. She stepped closer, gently cupping her sister’s face. Another tear slipped down Yelena’s cheek, her expression blank. She couldn’t meet Natasha’s eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha leaned in and planted a kiss on her sister’s forehead. “This is goodbye, then,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>They stood for a moment, Yelena’s forehead touching hers before her grey-eyed sister turned away and left without looking back. There was nothing more to say. Natasha watched her go, wishing she would be free of the Widows’ grasp. But she wasn’t. She may never be. </p><p> </p><p>She had spared her life, given her another chance, and for that, Natasha would always be in her debt. </p><p>With a heavy heart, she turned back to the village. She was worthless, a coward, vile— that was true. But she had to try. </p><p> </p><p>When she ran, this time, it was toward him. Toward the person she wanted to be. She was a nameless woman, but that meant that she could be anybody. Of all the people she could be, she didn’t want to be the woman who ran anymore. Even though she knew she may not deserve love, she didn’t care. That didn’t scare her anymore. Natasha sprinted for the village, for the distant fires and chaos. </p><p> </p><p>She wanted to be a woman who could protect the people she loved. </p><p> </p><p>She wanted to be worthy of that, at least.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A short chapter! I'm honestly so surprised this got finished though haha. It's still technically Sunday where I am, so we'll take it as a win! (Are you the kind of person to post an assignment at 11:58 on the last day it's due, Yeeta? Yes. Yes I am.) </p><p>More on Eitr next week! Not sure when the next chapter will be, so stay tuned. </p><p>Follow me on Twitter (@YeetaNo) for updates!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Thor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time Natasha made it back, the village was in flames. The mead hall was ablaze, the terrible inferno reaching into the early morning light. Thick smoke choked and swirled up to meet the angry, roiling black skies above. Blue lightning webbed through the clouds, racing and sparking threateningly. Thunder rumbled, low and intense.</p><p>Beneath it was the frenzy of battle. The clash of swords and axes, the cries of rage, of pain. Already corpses littered the ground— Strucker’s men, Agger’s, Ross’s, Steve’s. Slain warriors and thralls alike. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha panted, carefully scanning the chaos to choose her route. She darted between the barracks, looking for a weapon, a shield, anything to help defend herself. In the main courtyard, warriors crushed and surged in a brutal fight. She recognized Steve’s forces, fighting in tight formation against a barrage of frenzied, berserk warriors. They screamed with rage, some frothing and fighting with bare fists. In this state, the berserkers had no sense of self-preservation. They felt no pain, no fear. Steve’s warriors were fearsome, smart in their tactics, but formations were quickly overrun and swarmed by the larger numbers of the Warlord’s forces. They were forced to retreat to the burning mead hall. </p><p> </p><p>Taking advantage of the now empty courtyard, Natasha darted out to arm herself with equipment from the fallen warriors. She had almost made it to the first shield she could find when lightning suddenly struck the group of berserk fighters. The ground erupted, sending men flying. The crack of thunder that followed tore open the charged air, drowning out her surprised shout. Her ears rang, the ground shook. She barely recovered when another strike hit the ground in the village, then another, and another. It was all she could do to hide among the fallen warriors and wait for the barrage to end. </p><p> </p><p>When the thunder stopped, she stumbled to her feet.  Her legs trembled from the electricity charged through the ground, her nerves numb with cosmic energy. The initial flash was seared into her vision and she furiously blinked to try and reorient herself. The feral warriors were obliterated, charred, and unmoving. Steve’s warriors were unharmed, shields raised skyward as they huddled together. They all had the same symbol on their shield, she realized. Bright red with a white five-point star painted in the centre. It must be how he knew not to strike for them. </p><p> </p><p>She hastily picked up the wooden shield marked with his symbol, her eyes feverishly searching for a sign of Steve. He must be airborne to call down strikes and see his warriors. Fear raced through her as she watched the chains of lightning in the dark clouds. The threat could come from anywhere. She didn’t know how Eitr worked— it might be a liquid of some kind if Yelena kept it in a flask. That could mean it was on weapons— arrowheads dipped in it, swords and axes laced with it. It could be anywhere. But she couldn’t give it much thought; more of the warlords’ men came flooding into the village from the beaches, the longhouse, the encampments outside of town. </p><p> </p><p>As she slipped her arm through the grip, a berserk warrior spotted her and charged with a frenzied cry. His eyes were bright and unfocused, his hands covered in blood. Three arrows stuck in his back, though he moved as if he didn’t feel them. He swung his axe down and Natasha raised her shield. The impact reverberated up her arm and she gritted her teeth as he furiously struck again and again with mindless purpose. Yelena had only given her a tiny dose of the serum before, but these men must’ve taken more. They were out of their minds with fury. On the next swing, Natasha caught the man’s axe in her shield, and she spun, twisting the axe from his grip. Dislodging it from the wood, she swung it experimentally as the man gnashed and spat, racing for her.  Natasha swung the axe and ended him with a quick, brutal strike.</p><p> </p><p>When he was still, she readjusted her shield on her arm, pulling the leather straps tightly as she searched the distant plains outside of the village. The field was littered with bodies, more scattered the grounds heading into the pastures. That was where many of the berserk warriors were headed. They swarmed like insects, their collective cries sounding like a hair-raising chorus in the early morning air.  </p><p> </p><p>She ran onto the field, picking up a spear from a dead warrior, and tucking her axe into her belt. What was their play? She quickly surveyed the battlefield. The Eitr could be on any number of them and Steve wouldn’t know it. Natasha charged forward, keeping an eye out for him. Right now he seemed nearly invincible. He could strike swiftly, though the warlords seemed to be spreading the fighting out to keep him from obliterating all of their men at once. </p><p>To her left, she heard a cry and spotted a  group of shieldmaidens fighting off a swarm of crazed warriors, keeping their distance with spears and staying in tight formation with their shields up. A shieldmaiden speared a man through, and it only incensed him. He grabbed her spear and went wild, screaming in feral, untethered anger. It seemed to draw more berserk fighters in, and the shieldmaidens were overwhelmed. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha gripped her spear, heading toward the fray to help when Steve hurtled down like a bolt from above, breaking apart the cluster of warriors as he landed among them. The air crackled dangerously around him, charged to an overwhelming degree with his cosmic power. She could taste it on her tongue, smell the sharp ozone in the air, but he didn’t call down lightning so close to his warriors. Instead, Steve swung his hammer, shattering the enemy ranks apart as his shieldmaidens retreated, getting clear of him as lightning crackled across his skin, through his hair. The men became frenzied, savage at the sight of him. They scrambled and raced and clawed, howling and spitting as they charged him, but Steve held Mjölnir aloft. Light exploded down in a searing arc that engulfed Natasha’s vision in white. She looked away, ducking behind her shield and bracing herself for the terrible burst that followed. </p><p> </p><p>Thunder exploded, tearing open the air. She gritted her teeth to stop them rattling. When the world stopped shaking, she peeked over her shield. Steve was standing alone, his enemies reduced to ash. He was panting hard, still shimmering with cosmic power. He seemed to almost glow with it, it sparked under his skin, from his eyes, across the metal of his scaled chain mail and bracers. His helmet had come off— torn off, judging by the cut on his face. There was a hardness to him, a coldness she had never seen in him. He towered, imposing, and godly. He looked so unlike himself. Unease prickled over her skin to see him like this.  </p><p> </p><p>Steve shook himself, his expression focused, intense. When he looked up, he saw her, his glowing eyes meeting hers from across the battlefield. It was like their first meeting on the beach— she was pinned by his stare, unable to move. But the sight of her seemed to break him. He was frozen, his expression unreadable and Natasha felt heat rush into her cheeks. She was overwhelmed by guilt, by shame. </p><p> </p><p>Before she could speak, Steve swung his hammer in a shimmering blur and flew off again. Likely he didn’t trust her— and he was right not to. As far as he knew, she was his enemy and was sent here to manipulate him. Natasha pursed her lips and chased him, putting aside the fighting the bitter ache welling in her chest. This wasn’t about salvaging her relationship. She came to warn him. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha tracked a lightning strike down in the pastures and took off after it. She sprinted, the sharp scent of smoke burning her throat as she searched for Steve. She barely caught sight of the frenzied warrior charging in from her right. He let out a furious cry and she let out a frustrated cry of her own. She went low, sending him over her shield like a vault before spearing him when he hit the ground. Another helmeted berserker hit her from behind, catching her shoulder with a swing of his club. Natasha cried out in agony, and let go of the spear, her shoulder in terrible pain. “I don’t have time for this!” she screamed at him.  </p><p> </p><p>The man swung again and she got her shield up this time. His club bounced off the wood with a crack. Lightning flashed behind him, thunder split the air. She smashed the edge of her shield into his nose guard, sending him stumbling back a step. He didn’t register that his nose was broken. Blood streamed into his wide-open mouth as he charged again. Natasha drew her axe, her shoulder screaming in agony. She timed his swing, blocked it with her shield, and knocked it aside. Stepping in close, she cut his throat. He didn’t seem to register that it had happened. He gurgled, surging forward, his weapon raised. Natasha gritted her teeth and pushed him back with her shield. He fell in a heap and Natasha searched the skyline again, panting. </p><p> </p><p>She found him again, back to her as he broke up another cluster of frenzied warriors with Mjolnir. He threw the hammer, sending men flying before calling it back to his hand. Focused on the berserkers, Steve didn’t see the archers lined up on the hillside beside him. Not everyone had taken the serum, it seemed. Her heart dropped— was this the warlord’s plan? Draw his attention elsewhere and then attack? The archers nocked their arrows and drew. Natasha didn’t think, she sprinted for Steve. </p><p> </p><p>As he crushed the last few warriors, he turned just in time to see her jump in front of him and get her shield up. A volley of arrows rained down and sank deeply into her shield. She was struck in the leg, crying out as she faltered and braced herself. She came away with a shield full of arrows and quickly broke the shafts with her axe, her gaze fixed on the next volley that was sure to come. </p><p> </p><p>Behind her, pressure built and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Steve’s presence became so overwhelming, so oppressive she could scarcely breathe. The sky swirled the clouds an angry, circling black. She turned in time to see him draw down lightning, pull it from the sky, and send it into the archers on the hillside. The ground exploded. Another bolt struck, then another. The thunder that followed shook the ground, vibrated Natasha to her very marrow. </p><p> </p><p>When the strikes stopped, the pressure lessened enough for her to exhale. Steve towered over her, his expression unreadable. </p><p> </p><p>“I told you to leave,” he said quietly. His gaze drifted to the slice on her leg, her bloodied hands and face. He seemed not to know what to make of her. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha got to the point. “The warlords have a weapon,” she said, breathless. </p><p> </p><p>He narrowed his eyes, expression incredulous. “The same thing you had when you tried to kill me? I know.”</p><p> </p><p>“No—”  But Steve ignored her and swung the hammer again, preparing to take off. Frustrated, Natasha grabbed his hand. The jolt of energy that shot through her made her cry out, but she held on, gritting her words out through her teeth.  “Listen to me!” she implored. </p><p> </p><p>He shook her off, his expression cool. “Why should I?”  His face was twisted with anger. His inhuman eyes searching for her for a response. Natasha pursed her lips. He really wanted to know, but she had no answer that would satisfy him. He couldn’t trust her. He had no reason to. But now wasn’t the time for this. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s called Eitr,” she continued, “it’s what they’ve been mining in the woods. I don’t know what it does, but they think it can kill you.”</p><p> </p><p>His brow furrowed, as he searched for the lie in her words. “Eitr?”  </p><p> </p><p>“You’ve heard of it?” she asked. </p><p> </p><p>“Aye from skáld songs maybe.” He didn’t seem convinced. He backed up a step, clearly suspicious of her. Lightning crackled over him, threatening and powerful. “Shouldn’t you know of the warlords’ plan? Or is this another one of your lies?” </p><p> </p><p>She ignored him, watching behind him for an incoming attack. “The Red Room was willing to sacrifice me to get it,” she said. “They don’t waste their trainees unless it’s in their best interests. Whatever the warlords have must be well worth the price.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve seemed surprised to hear her speak so openly of the Widows. He became troubled, his expression cloudy. “It’s poison,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s heart dropped and she quickly inspected the wound on her leg but found nothing out of the ordinary. If it was as caustic as Yelena made it seem, then she’d surely be dead by now. The warlords had to ensure it would work if they used it. Natasha scanned the battlefield. They meant to get up close to Steve. </p><p> </p><p>Steve stepped away from her, turning back to the battlefield and walking away. “You’ve delivered your message, so you can go now.” His words stung, but Natasha drew a shuddering breath and tightened the straps on her shield arm. She followed him, walking at his side. She could feel his eyes on her, but she kept her gaze focused straight ahead, ignoring his growing frustration. Natasha gently rotated her injured shoulder with a wince. Her mobility was limited, but she could fight through the pain. “Natasha—” Steve warned. But he paused for a moment in thought. “That’s not even your name, is it?” </p><p> </p><p>She swallowed hard. “No,” she admitted. </p><p> </p><p>He laughed bitterly. “Then I don’t need your help, whoever you are.” He swung his hammer and took off again. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha gritted her teeth, watching him head back to the distant village. He didn’t understand the danger he was in. If he died, then so did all his soldiers, so did his cause. She wasn’t going to leave him, no matter what he said or did. Natasha ran after him.   </p><p> </p><p>She was getting good at this— finding him. The lightning strikes and crackling clouds above were a good indicator of his presence. Though it exhausted her to keep running around. She didn’t have unlimited stamina and couldn’t fly as he could. When she chased him down, he was in the village, calling down strikes and breaking up more groups of warriors. He attended to his men, helping some to their feet, giving them direction to others, and telling them what areas need more support. His troops ran off as she headed for him, her legs burning, nearly out of breath. Steve was focused on the woods, scanning the treeline briefly. He missed a stray, the frenzied warrior getting to his feet. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha pushed herself, hurtling toward the berserk warrior just as Steve turned to face him. She crashed into the man with her shield, sending him tumbling. Withdrawing her axe, she ignored the ache of her shoulder to put him down before he could get back up. When it was done, she sagged, panting and exhausted before holding her shield up and guarding Steve once more. </p><p> </p><p>When he grabbed her and turned her to face him, she stiffened in surprise. “Stop,” he hissed, appraising her. “Why are you doing this?!” </p><p> </p><p>She clenched her jaw, staring up at him defiantly. “I’m not leaving you, Steve.” </p><p> </p><p>His brows turned up, his expression utterly broken. He couldn’t understand her. He didn’t understand that she’d give her life to keep him safe, to protect him. He didn’t understand how much she loved him. That didn’t matter right now. She had to keep him safe. </p><p> </p><p>From the woods behind him, a great chorus of screams sounded. A swell of forces began to emerge from the treeline in a furious charge straight toward the village. </p><p> </p><p>“Get out of here!” he shouted, facing down the army. Natasha raised her shield, putting herself between the incoming swell of warriors and Steve. </p><p> </p><p>“No!” she cried. She gripped her axe tightly, her palm clammy. </p><p> </p><p>Steve raised Mjölnir high but faltered when he saw the incoming warriors. They were unarmed. Simply dressed, small and thin. They were no warriors. They were thralls, all of them. </p><p> </p><p>The old warlords had given them the Red Room’s serum, turned them frenzied and mad, and set them loose. They were unarmed men, women, children. </p><p> </p><p>Steve let out a furious cry, his bolt of lightning striking wide. The crack of thunder drowned out the animalistic howls of the thralls. Among them, Agger appeared. He wore no armour, his chest, and body painted, a long dagger in his hand. He howled, his eyes wide with berserk rage. Spittle flew from his lips, he gnashed his teeth like a beast as he charged for Steve. Natasha quickly intercepted, and he bowled her over. Natasha hit the ground hard, dropping her axe as Agger fell on top of her, But he didn’t feel the impact, the serum coursing through him made sure of that. He focused his rage on her now, eyes burning with a glassy fury. </p><p> </p><p>He got up, grabbing her by the neck, and dragged her up until her feet left the ground. Natasha kicked and thrashed, her vision swirling as he choked her. He raised his dagger, which was sharpened into a single, armour-piercing point. She got her legs up and twisted them around his arm. The sudden shift in weight made him drop her, and she leveraged the momentum to get free of his grasp. </p><p> </p><p>Her back hit the ground and Agger stabbed his dagger down, thrusting it straight through her damaged shield, breaking it apart. Natasha barely managed to move her head away as the point was forced into the dirt. Steve’s energy crackled through the air, building with his frustration. He couldn’t use his lightning strikes while the thralls surrounded him. </p><p> </p><p>“Agger!” Steve cried as threw the attacking thralls from him, careful not to kill them. More kept coming. Steve looked just as furious as the berserk warriors. </p><p> </p><p>The old warlord’s attention snapped to Steve and he jerked his dagger away, but Natasha trapped his arm between her legs as Steve charged at him, swinging the hammer up and bashing him under the jaw. Natasha heard it shatter and she released him as he tumbled onto his back, the dagger still held in his death grip. The old warlord quickly recovered, got up, and charged again, tackling Steve to the ground as more and more thralls swarmed, trying to tear him apart with their bare hands. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha got to her feet, quickly picking up her axe, she charged the thralls swarming Steve and Agger, pushing them off with what was left of her shield. She forced them back, and stumbled, holding her axe up to keep distance between them as they raced for her. Behind her, Steve cried out in pain, then in furious anger. She heard the swing of his hammer and glanced to see him drag the old warlord airborne by his neck. Agger screamed and writhed as Steve threw him hard, sending him flying. As the warlord fell to the earth, Steve held the hammer aloft, and an arc of lightning cut through him.  The first of the three old warlords fell, lifeless, to the ground. </p><p> </p><p>Briefly, Natasha wondered where the other two were. Clearly, they were waiting this out, looking for an opportune moment to strike. She swung her axe, and struck an incoming attacker with the blunt side. The woman fell, unconscious, to the ground. Natasha kept swinging, but her arms were so tired, she was so tired. There were so many of them. She was caught off-guard in a blindside tackle and crashed to the dirt, the wind knocked from her. The thralls swarmed, and she tried to put her broken shield between her and the crush of feet and fists and gnashing teeth. Natasha couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, or fight. But the mob let up, thrown from her one by one until she felt the hum of Steve’s body on hers as he held her fast and before she knew it, they were flying. </p><p> </p><p>The wind was cold on her skin. It helped to focus her and she held on tightly, her muscles flagging from exhaustion. She buried her face into Steve’s shoulder and used everything she had to hold onto him. He was panting, his breaths ragged, his heart hammering in his chest. She barely had the sense that something wasn’t right when he suddenly crushed her in his grip, his body seizing as a pained cry tore from him. Their descent became uncontrolled and with a terrible panic, Natasha realized they were falling. The ground came up to meet them and Natasha did her best to hold on, her arms cradling Steve’s head and neck.  </p><p> </p><p>They hit the ground hard. </p><p> </p><p>Steve took the brunt of the impact— a terrible burst of pain shot up her arms where she protected his head. They tumbled, and Natasha flew from his grip. The impact knocked her senseless, and she rolled to a stop in a daze. The world tilted dangerously, and she blinked up at the sky, her heart hammering in her ears. Frigid water lapped at her feet, she tasted salt on her tongue, and she used the sensation to focus. Natasha drew a breath and rolled onto her stomach, searching for Steve. They were on the beaches below the village. She spotted him a short distance away, lying in the sand on his side, pushing himself to try and sit. Mjölnir had flown from his grip and lay in the distance down the beach, glimmering in the pale light. Natasha shook herself and made herself stand on shaky legs. Moving was agony, but they didn’t have time. Above them, the remaining thralls and warriors alike raced through the village, heading down to the beach. In their frenzy, some flung themselves from the cliffs above and were dashed on the rocks below. </p><p> </p><p>The sight brought out a panic in her that cut through the haze of her injuries. She scrambled, stumbling to Steve’s side as he got to his feet, his hand clutching his side. He trembled, his breaths uneven and she cupped his face, made him look at her. His beard was soft beneath her hands, his skin warm. It was a strange clash of sensation in her addled mind. </p><p> </p><p>“We have to go,” she said, willing herself not to sound so panicked. Steve nodded, his face pale. He reached out his hand to call Mjölnir to him but faltered. Something was wrong. He looked at her, and Natasha watched the glow fade from his eyes. “Steve?” </p><p> </p><p>He cried out in agony, his body frozen in an arc before he collapsed to his knees. Natasha tried to catch him, knowing he was much too heavy, but as he fell, the cosmic energy seemed to leave him all at once and she was left holding him— the real him.  “Steve! she shouted. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t seem to hear her. He curled forward, his face nearly buried in her lap as he writhed and gasped. When he started screaming, his hand clenched tightly in her tunic,  dread consumed her. Natasha pulled him up and easily stripped him of his armour and chainmail now that it was too big for him. Steve contorted, his skin burning, sweat forming a pallid sheen on his forehead. She pried his hand from his side and it came away bloody. “No,” she said. She yanked up his tunic— </p><p> </p><p>Her breath caught in her throat. A shallow knife wound wept blood. Agger must’ve gotten him during their fight. The wound was coloured a deep black around the edges that looked like veins, like bolts of lightning. As it crept under his skin, Steve writhed and whimpered. The black suddenly burst open, and his skin split apart, his body coming undone wherever the marks appeared. It continued its spread, creeping into his stomach, toward his chest, over his ribs. “No, no, no,” Natasha whispered as she pulled his tunic back down and gripped his side tightly, pulling him to his knees. Steve cried out in agony as she threw his arm over her shoulders and propped him against her. She could hear the mob of frenzied warriors coming closer. “Get up,” she commanded, fixing her gaze on the hammer lying in the sand down the beach. “Get up.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve stumbled to his feet with her help, his teeth gritted as he leaned heavily against her. Natasha applied pressure to his wound as she moved them forward. Beneath her hand, his blood gushed in a steady stream that only seemed to grow with each step. Panting raggedly, Steve reached out his hand for Mjolnir, calling it to him. The hammer trembled and lifted unsteadily, flying a little closer, but it crashed into the sand when Steve sucked in a pained breath and dropped his hand. The split in his side widened, his skin bursting open in jagged lines. He screamed in agony, unable to take another step. </p><p> </p><p>Tears stung her eyes, and she pushed him forward. She didn’t know how it worked, but the hammer made him stronger, giving him cosmic power that might save him. It was her only hope. “We’re nearly there,” she said. “Nearly there.” </p><p> </p><p>Behind them were the sounds of snarling and clashing. She glanced over her shoulder to see Steve’s warriors blocking the narrow footpath onto the beach. It was a chokepoint and they trapped the mob there, but it was only a matter of time before the berserk horde broke through. </p><p> </p><p>Another pained cry tore from Steve, and he flagged in her grip. “Natasha—” he said weakly.</p><p> </p><p>She knew what he might say and gripped him tightly. She touched her head to his, her heart thundering so loud in her chest. “I’m not leaving,” she said, unable to hide the tremor in her voice.  She had to save him. “I’m not going anywhere.” </p><p> </p><p>He leaned into her before he drew a shuddering breath and tried to force himself to keep going. He reached for Mjölnir again, and Natasha had to help him extend his arm out. He groaned with the effort, but the hammer only shivered and didn’t move. He didn’t have the strength to bring it to him. She gripped him tightly, his tunic soaked with blood. He lost his footing and collapsed, and she fell with him. </p><p> </p><p>Desperation finally caught up with her. “Steve!” she cried, as she tried to drag his limp body to the hammer. But he could barely move and her grip on him slipped as she struggled to find purchase on his blood-slicked body. Behind him, the mob broke through the blockade and rushed onto the beach. Fear lanced through her, and she turned away and pulled Steve up to his knees. He was slick with blood, his left side painted red as he bled out. “Please, <em> please, </em>” she begged him. But Steve barely registered where they were anymore and he cried out hoarsely when they moved, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. He collapsed to the ground, panting weakly. It couldn’t end like this. </p><p> </p><p>The Eitr spread through his body in a terrible fever and his eyes rolled back into his head as he screamed. Natasha wasn’t sure which would kill him first, blood loss or poison, and she gripped him tightly, trying to drag him forward. The hammer waited— nearly within reach if she could get him there. </p><p> </p><p>But Natasha cried out when the sharp bite of a blade sliced across her back. She dropped Steve, and he collapsed, unmoving into the sand. Natasha fell to her knees, whirled, backpedaling to escape the swing of Strucker’s sword as he advanced on her. The blade whistled past her face as she scrambled backward. </p><p> </p><p>“Widow!” he snarled, his eyes dark and simmering with hatred. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha scrabbled, panic racing through her. Strucker raised his sword high to strike and she quickly kicked out his knee. He cried out and she barely stumbled to her feet when he swung and the blade bit into her forearm, drawing blood. Natasha couldn’t get her footing and fell back into the sand. “You useless dog!” he shouted as he got to his feet. “Nameless, wretched bitch!” He favored his injured leg as he stalked toward her. </p><p> </p><p>Her body ached. Her shoulder screamed at her, the cut on her back throbbed and pulsed. Strucker would kill her. She saw the tangle of warriors by the path, the flames towering into the sky as the village was engulfed in the terrible inferno. All these people, all these lives would be extinguished. Steve’s cause would end. He would die alone, consumed by the Eitr. The warlords would win, the Red Room would win. </p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t let it end like this. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Natasha backed up into something solid. Her hands fumbled for it. She needed something— a weapon, a stone, a piece of driftwood, <em> anything </em>. She had to protect these people, this cause. She had to protect the man she loved. </p><p> </p><p>Mjolnir’s leather pommel fit in her hand and she turned to see it glow before lightning struck through her in a terrible surge. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think. Within her, she heard a voice. It came from her centre, speaking directly through her, neither male nor female. </p><p> </p><p><em> Whosoever holds this hammer... </em>it said. </p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t let go even if she wanted to, her fingers magnetized to the hammer. Cosmic energy flowed in an unbearable current through her body, overloading her with its terrible power. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> If they be worthy…   </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Natasha screamed. Every synapse fired as she felt the energy consume her, mould her. Every ounce of her body was alive, her vision swam with indescribable power. It felt like an eternity that she was held in this grip, this overwhelming energy. But it was an eternity within a bolt of lightning, fractions of seconds. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Shall possess the power of…  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A contract bound her, a bond she didn’t understand. But she didn’t need to understand. It didn’t matter. It was raw power, cosmic energy beyond anything in her wildest dreams. She heard Strucker cry out in fear, in disbelief. When the flash was gone, she exhaled, her body humming with energy. She fixed her gaze on Strucker and lightning crackled in the skies above her. He stumbled back, his eyes wide. </p><p> </p><p>“No,” he sputtered. “Impossible—  You’re nothing. You’re nobody, you’re—” </p><p> </p><p>She raised Mjölnir overhead, and the weapon sang in her hand, begging to be wielded.  </p><p><br/><em> Thor, </em>the voice told her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Haha! A longer chapter! </p><p>This fic (including the whole mystery with Steve) is actually just a long con for Natasha wielding the hammer ;) Leave a comment if you liked! </p><p>Some mythology notes: Eitr is a powerful poison that exists in all things-- including things on earth. It is the poison that kills Thor in the Ragnarok sagas (not the movie, lol). It's said that the Midgard serpent rises and does battle with Thor in the final battle of the gods. The serpent poisons Thor before he strikes it dead. Thor takes nine steps before the poison ultimately kills him.  </p><p>A culture note: I may not have mentioned before-- a skald is sort of like a minstrel/poet. They recite poetry and songs and tell stories. They were highly revered for their skill. </p><p>Update next week probably. This took me a long time to finish lol. Follow me on twitter (@YeetaNo) for updates.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Fate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everything was strange in Natasha’s eyes. As she lowered the hammer, energy radiated from her, flooding the air around her with a charge of cosmic power so intense, everyone near her seemed to be paralyzed by it. She glanced around at the berserk warriors frozen and twitching in her presence, at Strucker kneeling, wide-eyed and pale. Everyone seemed smaller somehow, more fragile. Natasha stared down at herself, inspecting hands much larger than her own. She felt different— stranger. Her tunic no longer fit, her leggings too small for her enormous body. She towered over her enemies, monolithic and imposing. </p><p> </p><p>She exhaled, and it felt like she breathed static charge. She stared at the hammer in a state of disbelief. How? Why?  </p><p> </p><p>As if in answer to her question, an image flashed in her mind— many hands wielding this weapon, many champions, many worthy. She was shown a guardian, a protector of Midgard. <em> Thor— </em>a red-haired man, brawny and tall; a woman, sickly and weak; eyes of strangers, of people, long gone, then… Steve. Her breath hitched to see him so clearly. But the image was fleeting and quickly disappeared. Now it was her. </p><p> </p><p>Unease crept through her. What had happened to the previous wielders? </p><p> </p><p><em> There must always be a Thor. </em> The voice sounded like hers. It <em> was </em> hers. But the thought came from somewhere else. </p><p> </p><p>She was shown many worthy. Many guardians, many fallen Thors. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t—” She began to say. <em> Understand. Believe this </em> . <em> Want this </em>.  Those voices were not her own. They were fed to her like a catalogue of past responses. She faltered, trying to collect her scattered thoughts. “No… I need—” </p><p> </p><p>The single unifying response made of many voices— <em> to protect… </em>  him, her, everyone, all of them. <em> I need to save them.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Steve was dying. Her hands were painted red with his blood. The village was burning. Natasha exhaled shakily, her mind becoming clouded, overwhelmed. She loved him, was terrified of losing him, hated the warlords, hated what they had done. Anger swirled within her, powerful and all-consuming. The cosmic energy within her seemed to draw on it, pull it out of her like unraveling a thread. She sucked in a breath, squeezing her eyes shut. It was too much, too much. She curled in on herself, clutching her head tightly to stop this madness. “Stop,” she whispered.</p><p> </p><p><em> Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. </em> </p><p> </p><p>“Stop it!” Natasha screamed to drown out the noise, but the power flowed through her, overwhelming, numbing. It pulled her anger, her despair and fear out, brought them to life. Part of her understood that Mjölnir was just trying to help, that it was better acquainting itself with its host. But it fed into her fear, her despair, fanning them and drawing on them.</p><p> </p><p>She burned too hot, too bright. </p><p> </p><p>Her mind broke open, and power came rushing in and she screamed her voice raw. It was drowned out by the ear-splitting crack of thunder overhead. The world shook, the wind picked up, whipping her hair around her face. Lightning arced from her, cutting jagged lines into the air, crackling along her skin. She had no idea how to control it. She was a conduit, a vessel for power beyond her comprehension. It amplified her, turned her anger to storms, her rage to lightning. The clouds stirred above her, threatening and black, whirling, and dangerous. Natasha could barely focus, her heart was open, the flood of power nearly unbearable. </p><p> </p><p>It showed her something else— and she clung to the image like a light in the dark. It showed her Steve. She chased after the memory and found him in a burning village. A slash marred his face, an arrow buried below his shoulder, the shaft snapped off in haste. A deep, diagonal gash bled in his chest. His world was on fire. He panted, clinging to life, facing down a group of warriors alone as they laughed and taunted. The edges of her mind flickered. She saw him pick up Mjölnir, felt the terrible burst of power flood through him. She felt his heart at that moment— he wanted to protect. He had to. They all had to. </p><p> </p><p>But the hammer pried open his heart, flooded him with power, found his terrible anger and grief and sorrow, and fed on it instead. The power overwhelmed him, pushed and pulled at his mind until he broke and it swallowed him until he was merely a vessel. Power flowed unrestricted through him, opening a gate, a direct line to the power of the gods. His wrath was terrible. His eyes were wide and unseeing as he knelt unconscious, his hand on Mjölnir. His anger called down lightning strikes so violent, thunder so uncontrolled that the night turned white and the ground quaked. His grief summoned winds swift and brutal that blew men from their feet, toppled buildings. His sorrow opened the skies, drowned men in a flood, sliced men apart with hail. It hadn’t been a fight in the end. He had obliterated everything. </p><p> </p><p>It was a warning. </p><p> </p><p>She had the power to protect, but if she let it, this power would consume her, destroy everything. <em> Thor </em>, the voice reminded her. Natasha drew a breath, centering herself. She closed her eyes, invited numbness into her like she was taught. But she wasn’t doing it for the Widows, she wasn’t doing it to become unfeeling. Natasha envisioned her sister, lost to the Widows; the innocent thralls made into monsters by the warlords; Sharon and her family; Steve’s warriors’ fighting for him. These people were counting on her. Natasha drew a steadying breath. </p><p> </p><p>She envisioned Steve— his warm laughter, his kind eyes. She wouldn’t lose him. Gradually, Natasha suppressed her fear, her anger, her grief enough to act. </p><p> </p><p>When she exhaled, the dangerous energy emanating from her lessened. The storm subsided, the frozen berserkers collapsed, trembling, their eyes wide with rage. Strucker blinked, closing his mouth as he seemed to test movement in his limbs. Natasha felt herself become more steady, the flow of cosmic energy seemed to settle within her core, become enmeshed within her heart. She straightened and fixed her gaze on Strucker, expression deadly. The old warlord scrambled back like a startled deer as the first frenzied warrior recovered and charged from Natasha’s right. </p><p> </p><p>She tore her eyes from the old warlord, swinging her hammer at her attacker. Mjölnir sang in her hand, lighter than air, more deadly than any blade. The impact vibrated through her, pleasant, and calming. She smashed him in the side, sending him tumbling back into the incoming frenzied mob. </p><p> </p><p>People charged in a great surge, crushing and mad. Mjölnir hummed in her hand and she glanced at it. How did she use this? She didn’t have time to think— thralls swarmed her, teeth gnashing, hands outstretched to tear and rend and smash. She shoved them back, swung the hammer as she had seen Steve do, and threw it, letting the momentum carry her aloft. </p><p> </p><p>She lost her breath for a moment as she flew into the black skies above. The ground fell away, the people below became a tangle of bodies. Everything was much clearer from up here. It was easier to think, easier to breathe. Her skin tingled with the charge of the skies. She felt at home, like a matching piece of the elements. Lightning forked and webbed around her, the wind greeted her like an old friend. </p><p> </p><p>It was easy to see everything unfold from this vantage— the village burned, Steve’s warriors were occupying the fields and town, clearing out any remaining frenzied warriors. Below the mob swarmed like insects, frenzied, waiting, unable to touch her. The sight made her cold, a pit of unease welled within her. This wouldn’t end, she realized. The serum wouldn’t wear off likely for another day or two. The frenzied warriors would destroy everything and everyone in their path until then.  </p><p> </p><p>Her eyes landed on the chokepoint, the narrow path leading down to the beaches. She wasn’t going to let that happen. She held the hammer aloft as she had seen Steve do. Above her, the clouds seemed to come to her aid, charged with power waiting for her command. She pulled lightning from the sky, swinging her hammer down. Her lightning strike went wide, bursting open the sand and turning it to glass where it struck. Natasha gritted her teeth— she couldn’t control it very precisely yet. </p><p> </p><p>She called down another bolt and struck the hillside, then another and another. Her strikes mostly fell on their target and thunder rumbled and shook the earth below as the cliffside caved in, rock crumbling and splitting apart until the choke point was rubble and there was no escape from the beach. She would keep the frenzied here until the serum wore off. </p><p> </p><p>The rolling thunder made her smile, hitting something deep within her. It was as if her heart was coming into tune with the power that flowed through her. It bolstered her, made her more than she could ever be. It was then that she turned her attention to the beaches. Finding Steve was her next goal. She could give him the hammer, make him strong again once she brought him safely to the village. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, she found Strucker, stumbling his way back across the sand, face turned overhead to watch her. The storm clouds surged behind her and lightning sparked over her body. Her control threatened to dissolve, her heart swirling with deadly anger. </p><p> </p><p>He had found Steve first. </p><p> </p><p>She tracked the frenzied mob as they began to turn their attention from her to Strucker, descending on them, no longer in his control. Her eyes widened in anger and the skies swirled dangerously around her as she hurtled down, straight for the swarm of charging warriors. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha hit the ground like a meteorite, charging the ground with her impact, breaking apart the crowd, sending bodies flying into the sand. She got to her feet. looking up to find Strucker kneeling on Steve’s back, yanking his head up by his hair to press his blade to his throat. Natasha froze and the old warlord met her gaze with wild eyes. </p><p> </p><p>He pulled Steve’s hair, making him cry out. Steve was ashen, weak, barely holding on. “That’s close enough,” Strucker warned, pressing his blade harder to Steve’s neck. “Move and he dies.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha seethed, energy radiating from her in uncontrolled waves. He wasn’t stupid. He must’ve seen her carrying him down the beach, seen how she touched him, and pushed him onward. He knew she cared about him. Anger manifested as lightning and crackled across her skin and through her hair. Strucker paled, clearly afraid, and tightened his grip on Steve, cowering a little. </p><p> </p><p>From behind her a berserk warrior attacked, swinging a club that struck her across her back. The club shattered apart on impact and she barely felt it. Natasha whirled and backhanded the man, eyeing the charging thralls and warriors heading for her. She didn’t have time for this. </p><p> </p><p>Whirling back to Strucker, Natasha found the old warlord fumbling with a red flask— similar to the one Yelena had had. He poured Eitr onto his blade with shaking hands. The poison shimmered in her strange vision. She could see magic in it, sense the same power coming from it that came from Mjölnir. They seemed to be made of the same substance— something ancient, powerful. </p><p> </p><p>But before she could move, the warriors swarmed her and she was overwhelmed. Natasha cried out, trying to control her frustration. She didn’t want to destroy any innocents. Mjölnir hummed in her hand, the vibration like a song. She brought the weapon high, let it sing to the skies above her, talk to the power within the clouds, within her. She swung the hammer down, striking the sand hard. A pulse of energy shot through her and into the earth. The shockwave burst from in her a flash of light and thunder and the mob flew back, tumbling violently into the sand. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha barely turned to see Strucker swing for her. She stepped back, faster than she remembered. His blade whistled past her face and the proximity gave her a foul taste in her mouth. It was magic gone bad, the reverse of whatever Mjölnir was. “I will not lose!” He shrieked. He struck again, deceptively fast for a man his age. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha barely swung Mjölnir up, striking Strucker’s dagger. As the two weapons collided, lightning burst between them, and the impact sent them both crashing backward. Natasha tumbled, rolling to a stop in the sand. Dazed, she blinked up at the swirling skies for a second before rolling to her feet in anticipation of the next attack, only to find Strucker on his knees, struggling to his feet. His Eitr dagger had flown from his grasp. They both seemed to spot it in the same instant. It was glittering wickedly in the pale light, stuck in the sand by Steve’s prone body. </p><p> </p><p>In the space of a breath, the old warlord dove, and rage tore through Natasha. She threw Mjölnir with everything she had. It just grazed the warlord’s back as he fell, his hand reaching for his dagger. Furious, Natasha charged him, reaching him as his fingers brushed the hilt of his weapon.  </p><p> </p><p>They tumbled into the sand, and Natasha rolled him beneath her and smashed her fist into his face. Rage swirled dangerously within her as she beat the warlord senseless. Strucker spat blood, his head lolling backward as she hauled him up by the collar to deliver blow after punishing blow. Her fist ached, her knuckles dripping red with his blood.</p><p> </p><p>Thunder split the skies overhead, but she heard Steve’s pained gasp and she froze, her control wavering. She dared to look at him—  her fist paused mid-strike as she knelt over Strucker’s body. Steve seemed so small to her now, so alone. The sand was stained red with his blood, his eyes glazed as he watched her. He didn’t seem to recognize her. He was close enough to touch him, close enough that she could feel the Eitr within him, feel the foul magic slowly pulling him apart. He was grey, barely breathing, nearly dead. </p><p> </p><p>A terror unlike anything Natasha had known flooded through her. She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t. She whirled back to the old warlord, forcing him to face her with an enraged cry. Strucker blinked, one eye swollen shut, his beard slick with bloody drool and sand. He was aware enough to have followed her gaze to Steve, his cruel gaze fixed on him. </p><p> </p><p>He laughed.</p><p> </p><p>Rage. Pure, unfettered, rage tore through her. In an instant, Natasha was on her feet, eyes wide as she dragged the warlord to standing. He only looked at her, his eyes sparkling maliciously. Even if he lost now, he knew he had hurt her. He and his allies had killed one Thor, at least. He was smug, goading. She hauled Strucker closer, her teeth bared as the sky swirled above. Lightning charged above her, within her. He smiled, his teeth red. </p><p> </p><p>“A warrior’s death,” he said, a grin plastered on his face. Fury built in her like a pressure, dangerous and all-consuming. </p><p> </p><p>There would be nothing left of him. She would turn him to ash in her hands. </p><p> </p><p>But they both froze when Strucker’s eyes flew to his feet in horror and Natasha followed his gaze. Steve stared up at them both. There was a fire in his eyes, a determination. He seemed to want to fight the whole world. He was holding the Eitr dagger tightly in his grip. Natasha barely registered what was happening before Steve, brought the dagger up and slashed a deep cut into Strucker’s leg.  </p><p> </p><p>Strucker cried out, horror kicking the blade away, furiously trying to stomp on Steve before Natasha threw him to the ground. She stared down at him in disbelief as Steve let go of the dagger, a smile on his face as he wheezed a tiny laugh. Blood flecked his face.  He didn’t seem to know where he was anymore, his eyes blank as he stared at the sky. When his eyes slid shut, Natasha went cold. </p><p> </p><p>The old warlord’s cries of anguish as the deadly poison set in drew her from her thoughts. Strucker screamed, lunging for the dropped blade, but Natasha caught his arm, drew her head back, and headbutted him with such force that his nose broke. He cried out in agony, his leg splitting open, the muscle tissue disintegrating. He fell to the sand, scrambling and thrashing and cursing. He slid to his knees and he stared up at her with wide eyes like a votary venerating his goddess. </p><p> </p><p>“Please,” he begged, “Give me a warrior’s death. Let me meet my sons in Valhalla.” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha held out her hand to summon Mjölnir. The hammer jumped into her grasp and she stared down, towering and imposing, at the broken man before her. She leaned in close, relishing the fear in his eyes. “No,” she whispered. “You will go to your daughter in Helheim and beg her forgiveness. You will tell her to her face that you failed.”  </p><p> </p><p>As her words settled over the old warlord, he broke. A laugh bubbled from him, tears leaked down his weathered face. Natasha turned from him and knelt by Steve’s side as Strucker’s laugh turned hysterical, mad. She gathered Steve in her arms—  he seemed almost weightless to her as she picked him up.  The black veins of poison had crept into his neck. She couldn’t let that scare her yet, not until they were safe. </p><p> </p><p>Behind her the old warlord got to his feet, laughing all the way. He limped, his leg twisted and useless, his body being eaten away. Natasha swung her hammer and took off as Strucker threw himself into the recovering mob of berserkers, seeking his warriors’ death. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Natasha’s flight was short. She brought them to the cliffs outside of the village that overlooked the sea. They were away from the chaos of the village. This was the place she had laughed with him. She landed roughly, doing her best to keep Steve from feeling the impact. She expected him to draw a pained breath, protest in some way, but he didn’t move. Fear soured her mouth as she set him down. He was so pale, his eyes still closed. </p><p> </p><p>Frantically, she let go of Mjölnir and took his hand, closing his grip around the pommel. Nothing happened. The energy didn’t dissipate and she panicked. Tears pricked her eyes. This was all she had. It had to work. It <em> had </em> to. “No—” she whispered, wrapping his hand more tightly around the leather grip. “<em>No.</em>” </p><p> </p><p>Her control slipped. The skies opened above her, and fat, cold drops of rain began to fall. Natasha let go of the hammer, and Steve’s hand fell limply on the ground. He gasped for breath, the Eitr in his chest. “I— I don’t know how to stop it,” she cried, smoothing Steve’s hair from his face. His breaths were strained, his heartbeat frantic and stuttering. He had minutes left. Furiously, she stared at Mjölnir. “Save him!” she begged, watching the hammer as it lay silently. </p><p> </p><p>But it had what it wanted. <em> There must always be a Thor. </em> She couldn’t release its power— she didn’t know how. </p><p> </p><p>The wind picked up, clouds swirled dangerously above them. Natasha curled against him as Steve slipped away from her. “No,” she cried. “Please. <em> Please.</em>”  </p><p> </p><p>But there was nothing she could do. His breaths became fewer, his heartbeat slower. The notion finally hit her— he was dying. He was going to die. Natasha buried her head in his shoulder, a sob breaking from her. Gently, she pulled him into her arms, holding him tight.</p><p> </p><p>At least let him feel that he wasn’t alone. She didn’t want him to be alone when he left. </p><p> </p><p>As she held him close, he arched, seeming to respond to the energy emanating from her skin. Steve groaned weakly and she felt a strange pull coming from him, strange energy of his own. Natasha frantically pulled him to rest against her shoulder and searched for the source of the magic she felt. When she touched his back, he arched again, crying out. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha frantically tore off his tunic to reveal his tattoos, shimmering in her strange vision. She could feel the runes shimmer on his skin— binding magic tied to his body. Magic as old as Eitr, as old as Mjölnir. When she touched him, she could feel it speak to her.</p><p> </p><p><em> Heal him</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha exhaled shakily. Something told her that was his mother’s voice. She sounded kind, warm. There was so much love in her words. <em> Give him back to me</em>, she said.  </p><p> </p><p>Natasha held him close and traced the marks on his skin. Each stroke of her hand seemed to activate the old magic and Steve began to writhe and struggle in terrible pain. The darkness polluting his blood seemed to shiver and squirm and Natasha pressed him closer, feeding feverishly into the plea his mother had made to save his life.</p><p> </p><p>Her breath hitched, her vision seemed to shine and flicker and she smoothed Steve’s brow, turned his face toward hers to anchor herself. His eyes were half-open, unseeing as he struggled for breath. The Eitr spread beneath his skin and she stroked his cheek, willing the dark markings to disappear. Power overwhelmed her, threatened to break her control, but she only smiled at the sensation. If Mjölnir fed on her heart, then she’d let it. Natasha let go of her control, let herself feel everything— desperation, longing, hope…  He arched and drew a breath, a small noise slipping from him. “Heal him.” She repeated his mother’s words, tapping into her intention when she had cast these runes. “Give him back to me.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve gasped, a pained cry escaping from him. He squirmed, trying to get away, his eyes drifting open to fix on her face. Natasha laid him back and smiled down at him as she smoothed her thumb across his pallid cheek. “I love you,” she said softly and took hold of the hammer once more, opening a flood of unrestrained cosmic power into both of them. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha was barely aware of herself. The power she unleashed undid her, stole her mind, took over her body. She could feel Steve in her arms, feel the magic etched into his skin come to vivid life beneath her hands. It leached into his body, spoke to the magic within her, within the Eitr. He was screaming, writhing as the poison burned its way out of him, as his skin knit back together. She couldn’t stop, she wouldn’t. </p><p> </p><p>She didn’t know how long they were like that, before, eventually, the terrible surge of power began to dissipate and she slowly came back to herself. Natasha blinked dazedly. Over the ocean, the sun was breaking through the clouds, casting radiant, golden beams over the tumultuous grey of the waves. </p><p> </p><p>She looked down at Steve, unconscious and pale. The bleeding had stopped, the black veins of poison were gone. Stray strands of his hair danced across his forehead and cheeks like spun gold and she smoothed them away. A strange calm possessed her, a relief, unlike anything she had ever known. She leaned down and planted a kiss on his temple, holding him close as she listened to him breathe for a moment before, gently, Natasha picked him up, cradling him in her arms to carry him to rest. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wow a chapter at last! I don't know, I struggled so hard to get this chapter finished. Maybe it's because we're getting close to the end of the story (I'm thinking maybe 1-2 more chapters :O) </p><p>No beta reader this week, so I'll probably be doing some minor edits in the next few days.</p><p>For reference, Natasha is 6'3'' now lol. </p><p>Follow me on twitter for updates. I'll see about a post next week. Stay tuned!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. The Cost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Not knowing where else to go, Natasha carried Steve to the pastures. There she found a group of evacuees huddled at Sharon’s homestead. They were mostly thralls, though there were some injured warriors among them. When Natasha arrived, she was spotted by a small family who cried out in alarm upon seeing her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The commotion drew out Sharon, who ran out with a long knife and makeshift shield made of a repurposed well cover. Her eyes were fierce, expression hardened until she saw Natasha. Warily, she lowered her weapon, eyes wide with recognition. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lady Natasha?” she asked. She was awestruck, as she flicked her gaze over Natasha’s huge stature. Before Natasha could respond, Sharon’s attention turned to Steve, still unconscious in her arms. Her face paled to see him in such a state. She marched up to Natasha, sheathing her blade with a frown. “Five days,” Sharon said. “I leave you two for </span>
  <em>
    <span>five </span>
  </em>
  <span>days— now you’re a goddess and the village has been razed!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha smiled apologetically.  “I’m sorry, Sharon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is he…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’ll be alright,” Natasha assured her. She had to believe that. He was safe now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sharon sighed, a tiny smile pulling at her lips. She had clearly been worried, waiting here with survivors for the outcome of the warlords’ fight. “Are we safe here?” she asked. “No more madmen?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha shook her head. “I’ve trapped them on the beaches, but not before Steve was…” She couldn’t make herself say it. Glancing down at his pallid face, she shifted her hand to feel his heart beating through his back. Relief washed over her again and she swallowed hard. “I didn’t know where else to go.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome here,” Sharon said. “There’s not much room, but you’re welcome all the same.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the first time since all this madness began, Natasha smiled. Sharon flushed a little to see it and guided her inside. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Natasha’s first objective was tending to Steve. She requested supplies and was promptly given hot water, combs, fresh linen, and clothes. She hadn’t expected such a quick response, but seeing the reverence, fear, and awe in the eyes of those who brought them taught her that being a goddess certainly had its upside. She was left alone in the empty enclosure, smiling at whispered words of “healing rituals”, “hallowing the pastures”, and “blessing the wounded”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She laid Steve down in the grass, smoothing his hair from his face. “Is that where you got all your fine clothes?” she asked, “From well-wishing devotees?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t answer, his gentle breaths the only sound between them. Natasha watched him for a moment, hoping he might wake to answer her. When he didn’t, she carefully began removing his bloody clothes to clean him. As she tore away the rest of his tunic, she revealed a knotted cord around his neck with their matching wedding rings over his heart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She paused, the sight making her heart sink. He had kept them, worn them under his armor. Natasha fingered the little circles of silver before she carefully drew them over his head and set them aside. Next, she unbound his hair caked with blood and dirt and drew the comb through it. She washed him, cleaning the grime from him. The skin on his side was red and torn, his body beaten and ruined. When she was finished, she wrapped his wound tightly in clean linen strips, dressed him, and carried him to bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She put the rings around her neck for safekeeping. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the next few days, Natasha had much to contend with. She put out fires by summoning rain; organized Steve’s remaining warriors, who were very confused to see their leader had transformed into a woman; and took stock of what supplies remained in the village. Most of the buildings were destroyed, except Strucker’s longhouse and a few of the turf houses behind it. The turf house she had claimed for herself was still standing. Something about that gave her a sense of relief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the third day, the frenzied warriors began to come out of their Soldier Serum stupors. Natasha had to unblock the caved-in pathways to the beaches to let them free. She began to settle into this strange body of hers that day. The power she wielded became a little more comfortable, much easier to use. She smiled to feel it. It was like she was coming into her own, getting a feel for what she could do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thor, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mjölnir reminded her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sharon was an invaluable asset. Not only had she coordinated the evacuation of fleeing thralls, she quickly scraped together volunteers to tend the wounded, distribute supplies, and find accommodation for all the displaced people. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Privately, Natasha sent scouts out to locate Ross, who hadn’t been seen since the attack on the beaches. He had fled, it seemed. That left a sour taste in her mouth, but she would deal with that in due time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To make room for the newly displaced warriors and thralls, Natasha moved back into her turf house, taking Steve with her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still hadn’t woken up. Each day that passed filled her with dread. His wound was unlike anything she had ever seen before. Faded bluish lines marked his side, starting at the site of the wound and spreading outward up his body. It looked like lightning, and when she touched it, it shimmered faintly like the runes on his back. She knew this wasn't anything of this realm— that magic held him together now in a way she didn’t quite understand. Though she couldn’t sense any foul magic, she suspected the strange quality of his wound was what kept him asleep this past week. Part of her feared what this meant for him. Part of her was afraid he would never wake up again. He breathed, his heart beat, but he wasn’t here.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
<span>Steve didn’t awake until the end of the week. Natasha was at his side when he stirred, his eyes opening a sliver. She couldn’t help it— a relieved little laugh escaped from her. Though she had saved him, she wasn’t certain he would ever wake again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sucked in a pained breath, a little frown on his face as he stared at her, uncertain of who he was looking at. Natasha stared down at herself. Sometimes she forgot— she was at least a full foot taller by her estimate, her hair had grown past her waist, and she was made of solid, rippling muscle. Her eyes glowed the same electric blue that Steve’s had been and her hair had turned a strange, shimmering red.  Nothing fit her anymore. She was wearing one of Steve’s Storm Bringer tunics and he blinked, struggling to focus. “Natasha?” he asked weakly.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The name sounded strange, like it wasn’t quite hers. She frowned and looked at her fidgeting hands with a nod, eventually gripping her tunic to keep herself still. She was so nervous, so afraid of what he would say to her. Steve’s eyes slid shut as he rested for a moment, his hand coming up to clutch his injured side. “Are you in pain?” she asked, her hand drifting over his, ready to call on the healing runes once more. Steve hummed and ignored her question, struggling to sit up. Natasha reached for him, but her touch sent a current of energy into him. He jolted and she withdrew, folding her hands back into her lap. “Sorry,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With considerable effort, Steve pushed himself to sit, his hand bracing his injury, expression fraught with pain. A soft noise escaped from him, and he gritted his teeth to stop himself from crying out in pain. Natasha was afraid to touch him, to hurt him. She hovered, watching him in concern. He didn’t seem to want her help anyway. Steve rested his head against the wall, his eyes shut tightly. He took a moment to collect himself before he spoke.  “How long has it been?” he asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha shifted uncomfortably, feeling too big for this room. “Six days,” she sighed, “almost seven at this point. I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No—” Steve winced, his hand resting over his injured side. He drew a shallow breath and opened his eyes to look at her. “No— I meant how long have you been like that?” he said finally. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha fidgeted. “I don’t know how to turn it off,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve was quiet, his expression introspective. It was nearly impossible to tell what he was thinking. She grew nervous again under his scrutiny and he finally looked away. “If you don’t turn back, the power will consume you,” he said softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The notion surprised her, but truly, she was beginning to suspect that as well. Each day she felt less like herself, and she struggled to remember what that even felt like anymore. It felt as though she had always had this form, always wielded this power. When she focused on that thought, it made her uneasy. When had she become so comfortable being like this? Mjölnir had what it wanted— a host, a conduit. If she couldn’t figure out how to release its hold on her, then Thor is who she would become. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that what you were planning to do?” she asked, “let it consume you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His expression was tense, eyes downcast. It broke her heart to see it, she knew him well enough to know that’s exactly what he was going to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not strong,” he said with a rueful smile. “I can’t change anything, fix anything… But Storm Bringer could.” Natasha swallowed, her brow turned up in devastation. Steve glanced at her briefly. “If I am Thor, then Steve no longer needs to exist. Nobody needs me like this, Natasha. I’m no good to anybody.” His eyes drifted to the hammer where she had left it on the floor. “Thor is who everyone needed.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was becoming agitated, the air in the room growing heavy with her distress. “Then— Why did you hide who you were? Why be both you and Storm Bringer?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He let out a long breath, his expression laced with pain. “Cowardice, selfishness— take your pick,” he said. His words were bitter, full of anger. When he glanced up at her and saw the terrible sorrow on her face, he faltered, his anger evaporating. She was struck by how lonely he seemed, how small.  “I couldn’t do it,” he admitted softly. “Steve is the name my mother gave me. I wasn’t ready to throw it away. I… I needed time to come to terms with it. When I came here, I thought maybe I could still be useful. I could spy as Steve, lead as Storm Bringer, give up on being myself. The day I married you was my last day. Or… it was supposed to be.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A terrible silence fell between them. Natasha sat, heartbroken. All this time he had planned to give up his life to be Mjölnir’s champion. She sensed that was the fate of many wielders. All of them Thor, all of them made into something greater by Mjölnir’s power. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Were you ever going to tell me?” she asked softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve pursed his lips, his expression grim. “I tried to,” he said. He chuckled bitterly at the memory. “I had planned to on our wedding night. I wanted to tell you I was truly Thor, that he was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, that Steve was just a convenience, an alias I could slip into,” he said, staring at his hands. “And that was going to be true—  I was going to be Thor, let the memory of me disappear like some forgotten tale.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha stared at him in disbelief. “You’d live like that? You’d live a lie?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes flashed angrily. “Bold words coming from you,” he snapped. Natasha deflated, sagging in her chair, her cheeks flushed with shame. Steve seemed to regret his words, his gaze falling to his hand as he twisted the frayed edges of the bandages wrapped around his body. They both fell into pained silence. He was right—  she was a liar, she had no life of her own until a week ago. How ironic to accuse him of the same. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know what you must think of me,” she said quietly. “I know the kind of woman I am— or was… I know that, Steve.” He clenched his jaw tightly as he listened, refusing to look at her. Natasha offered him a pained smile before she continued, “And you’re right. Everything about me was lies. I told myself so many, for so long, that I couldn’t tell what was real anymore.”  Steve was quiet, his expression troubled. “I just… I don’t wish that fate on you.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand curled into the sheets, his face pale. “Mjölnir chose me, gave me this chance to protect people, the least I could do was give myself to it. The least I could do was become someone people needed.” He pursed his lips, his expression devastated. “And… I thought you wanted me as Thor. You told me you were in love with Thor.” He smiled, but Natasha could see him breaking. Steve quickly averted his gaze, trying to hold himself together enough to continue. He drew a breath, his hand pressed tightly to his side. “When you asked </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stay with you on our wedding night— me, not… not Storm Bringer…” A tear slipped down his cheek and he quickly dashed it away with a bitter laugh. Steve paused, his expression lost. He sounded so small when he spoke. “I wanted you to choose me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Guilt washed over her to hear those words.  “I did choose you,” Natasha whispered.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aye, for a night,” he said, his tone unmistakably hurt. “I had hoped it would be enough— that you’d trust me enough to stay. Maybe I should’ve known better. You promised me nothing after all. But…” he sighed, his breath shaky. “The way you made me feel, Natasha. The way you looked at me…” She swallowed hard. That night seemed so long ago now. She’d give anything to get back to that, but she had broken his trust so completely. How could she expect his forgiveness and understanding when she had tried to kill him? Steve smiled sadly. “When I woke up alone, I had my answer. I wasn’t enough to stay for.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha looked up, leaning forward in her chair. “No,” she said. Steve frowned, watching her intently. “That’s not true. I would’ve stayed, I wanted to stay, but I didn’t have a choice. My sister—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve laughed incredulously. “Sister?” he searched her, looking for the lie in her words before he shook his head. “This whole thing really was a sham, wasn’t it?” he asked softly. “A marriage built on lies.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t disagree. They were both liars married to a false version of each other. Her silence gave Steve pause and he dropped his gaze to his hands. “I know nothing about you,” he said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That hurt more than anything to hear. She blinked, holding back tears. “You know me,” Natasha replied, “maybe better than anyone.” He looked at her questioningly. He seemed so exhausted, his face drawn and pale, and Natasha gave him a reassuring smile. She wanted him to know how he’d touched her, how he’d changed her. Even if he never wanted to see her again afterward, she at least wanted him to know that.  “You know the sound of my laughter, you’ve seen my truest smile,” she said. He didn’t seem to believe her and she glanced down at her hands, changed, charged with cosmic power. Turning her gaze to Mjölnir waiting by the door, she smiled sadly. “You knew what was inside my heart before I did. You knew I was kind, that I could be good, that I was capable of protecting others— you saw that in me before Mjölnir did.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That notion seemed to resonate with him. He couldn’t argue with the hammer’s will. She was just as worthy as he was to wield the hammer, she had saved him with that power. Steve faltered, not knowing what to make of her anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ask me anything,” Natasha said. “Ask me anything you want and I’ll answer truthfully.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He paused for a moment and she was afraid he would ask her to leave. Instead, he asked, “What’s your real name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah. Of all the questions he could’ve asked her, he wanted to start with that one. Natasha sighed, her gaze falling to the floor. “I don’t have a name,” she said. His silence was palpable, she could feel the disbelief radiating from him and she quickly elaborated as if that would make it better. “We don’t keep names, it’s too… sentimental.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at Steve, but she could imagine his horrified expression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did they call you, then?” he asked softly. “They must’ve called you something…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha smiled humourlessly. “I was “girl” until I passed my first true test. I was around thirteen then.” She remembered the look on the other girls’ faces when they were left in the frozen tundra to find an extraction point. They didn’t understand it at first, it seemed too easy, but when they reached the survival cache to find supplies for only one, Natasha quickly understood what all their training had been for. Of the fifteen girls she grew up with, loved like they were family, only one of them would be returning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was called “sister” after that.” Steve was silent, and she continued. Something about this felt good. She had never spoken about her life to anyone. “Sisters apprentice by completing certain…  </span>
  <em>
    <span>missions</span>
  </em>
  <span> to work toward becoming a full Widow.” She swallowed hard at that admission. How many lives had she ruined over the years? It must be in the hundreds, maybe thousands. After the first test, killing seemed easy, and the rest was a matter of study. Subterfuge, espionage, interrogation, and torture, learning to lie, to topple kings and warlords, to improvise weapons, and become creative in her methods of execution were all just tools in her arsenal now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The honey trap— the mission I was tasked with— is the final qualifying mission. It’s the reason we are called Widows… Killing an intimate partner, whether a spouse or a lover…” she paused, thinking of Steve’s expression when he woke to her blade against his throat and sighed. “It’s symbolic of our commitment to the Red Room. It’s a promise to forsake love, family, connection, everything to become a living weapon…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shly, Natasha met Steve’s gaze. He was angry, his expression tense, and she shrank back. He knew she was a monster now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been living like this since you were thirteen?” he asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha shook her head, her heart pounding in her ears. “Since I was a child,” she said. “Maybe in my fifth year? I don’t remember now. My parents sold me to them. I… I remember the Widow who took me was fond of my hair and eyes.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Part of her squirmed to tell him this. Her instinct was to hide this part of herself, put up walls, disguise her heart with personas and masks and lies. It was frightening to open herself like this. She had nowhere to hide now, her life was laid bare, stripped of all pretenses. What was left of her? Who was she really? She wasn’t sure she knew, but she didn’t want to be the woman who lied to him anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve was quiet, his anger palpable. Natasha folded her hands to keep herself from fidgeting, but her leg bounced nervously as she squirmed under his scrutiny. Truly, she didn’t want his scorn. She didn’t want him to reject her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He struggled to lean forward, a pained gasp breaking from him. He bowed his head, eyes screwed shut in pain as he trembled. But he pushed himself and nearly collapsed.  Natasha caught him, her cosmic power making him arch and cry out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Steve?” she asked, alarmed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tried to withdraw, but he clutched her arm tightly, steadying himself before meeting her gaze. He looked so broken. “I release you from this marriage,” he said. “If you need to hear me say it— we married under false pretenses. I annul our union. You don’t have to stay anymore, you’re not bound to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her lips parted in shock. “Steve—” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He seemed so heartbroken, so lost. “Please… You owe me nothing,” he whispered. “Just… I want you to be happy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She blinked, studying his face intently. Understanding washed over her— his anger wasn’t at her after all, it was on her behalf. He must believe she wouldn’t want him, especially given that she married him in order to complete a mission. He saw their union as the last vestiges of her ties to the Red Room.  “I said it before,” she said, drawing him to look at her. “I’m not going anywhere, Steve.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sagged, his expression pained, confused. She titled her head, meeting his gaze. “What do you want, Steve?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His brow furrowed, his lips parted as though he would speak, but no words came out. It was as though that had never been an option for him. Everyone else’s desires came before his own. He never admitted what he wanted, never allowed himself to think that way. More than anything, Natasha wanted to change that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve broke, his expression lost. “What do I want?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha nodded, a gentle smile on her face. Even now, he had assumed she wouldn’t want him, that he would put whatever he felt aside to give her what she wanted. He looked up at her, his expression deeply conflicted. Slowly he reached for her, his hand cradling her cheek. Natasha leaned into his palm with a little sigh. She had missed this. It felt strange, forbidden. She had been so certain she’d never again feel his touch, that she’d never have his forgiveness. Slowly she let her eyes fall closed as Steve stroked his thumb across her skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve traced her jawline, nudging her chin to turn her face toward him before he leaned in and very gently pressed a kiss on the corner of her lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha unfurled, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Everything within her let go. She turned into the kiss, her lips briefly grazing over his. Steve pulled away, and she met his gaze. There was something there in his eyes that unmade her, broke her down to her basest parts. He was so full of hurt, longing, a deep desire for this to be true.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly she eased him down, her hand on his back as she lowered herself onto the bed with him. For a moment, Steve looked up at her, studying her with almost childlike wonder as she knelt above him. His knuckles swept along her cheek, taking in the electric quality of her skin. Natasha smiled weakly and turned her face to press a kiss on his hand. She could hear the hitch in his breath when she rotated his hand to press her lips to his palm. His hand uncurled like a flower to the sun. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he tugged her closer, she let him guide her until his lips closed over hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was surely a dream. She felt she never deserved this, that she’d never feel this again. This had to be a dream. Rejecting that notion, Natasha drew him closer, her arms sliding beneath his body to gently roll him to his side so she could lie with him. Steve’s lips broke from hers for a moment as he let her move him before he kissed her again. He was hesitant, slow as if relearning how this felt. His hand cradled her face, while his other drifted down her body to settle on her waist. She was drifting, weightless as his mouth stroked over hers. It was quiet in the room, and she relished the sound of his soft breaths, the feel of his heartbeat as he pressed against her. The smell of him was so familiar— like coming home. She breathed him in, realizing how much she had missed it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had almost lost him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha leaned in a little closer, her hand settling over his injured side. He pulled away, becoming a little withdrawn. He had almost died for this cause. They just breathed. That was more than enough. Eventually, his eyes drifted open again to watch her. There were so many conflicting emotions in his expression, so much tenderness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t answer my question,” Natasha teased. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve smiled and her breath nearly caught in her throat. She hoped she could see him smile like that for the rest of her days. “A Ghrá mo Chroí,” he said. “You’re a troublesome woman.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha’s lips curled into a little smile. “You called me that before— nothing insulting, I hope.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve swept her hair behind her ear. “No,” he said, his expression a bit sheepish as if he was embarrassed to tell her what it meant. “Love of my heart.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her cheeks flushed with heat. Even in this form, it amazed her how shy he could make her feel, how delicate and beautiful she was when he looked at her. “Steve…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugged. “If you have no name, then I want something to call you until you choose one.” Natasha was flushed with such warmth, such adoration that her eyes filled with tears. He didn’t mind that she was nameless, that she was an ex-Widow. She touched her forehead to his, and he hummed contentedly. He was thoughtful, his fingers toying with her shimmering tresses before spoke again. “Will you stay like this?” he asked. “Take Thor as your name?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sniffed and wiped her eyes. She thought about that, too. It didn’t seem like such a bad proposition. But if Steve hadn’t woken up, then that was who she would be forced to become. She was done letting others decide who she was. She wanted to choose. “No,” she said softly. “Show me how to stop this.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve shifted, slowly pushing himself to sit by her side with a pained grunt. She watched him, staring up at him as he gently swept her hair from her neck. Her long red tresses shimmered, the magic within her reacting to the runes on his back. “You have to relax,” he said. He traced delicately over her brows, his thumb sweeping across her cheek. “Close your eyes,” he said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She did. Steve grazed her jaw, the pads of his fingers dipping into her hair as he slowly worked to unwind the tension in her. Natasha exhaled and focused on his touch, the sound of his voice. His touch was warm, strangely stimulating on her charged skin as he moved to slide his hand under her neck to cradle her head. He placed his palm over her heart and Natasha inhaled sharply, her attention suddenly pulled to her body’s centre. Everything seemed to radiate outward from there and she gasped and squirmed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hand flew up to grasp Steve’s and his voice sounded so far away when he spoke. “It’s alright,” he said. She felt strange, defensive. But she wasn’t entirely sure that feeling came from her. She did her best to relax and stay focused on the source of the power within her. “Can you see how it holds you?” Natasha nodded numbly, everything seeming to gather now in one unbearable place in her chest. “Can you see its grasp on your heart?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha could see the white, hot shimmering energy beneath her eyelids, burning at her centre making her powerful, godlike. It was as if she held a bolt of suspended lightning within her, its power excruciating and overwhelming. She could taste its sharp ozone scent in the back of her throat. She could see how it possessed her, how it held her and she held it in an endless bond, a contract that allowed its power to change her, flow through her so she could wield it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve’s voice was much closer this time. “A Ghrá mo Chroí.” It curled around her, steady and warm. “Let it go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her chest hurt, her skin tingled and she envisioned herself opening her hands. Thunder rolled in the distance and all at once the power rushed out of her. With a shuddering gasp, Natasha collapsed heavily into the mattress, her strength completely sapped. It was as if she had run for miles, stayed up for days without rest. She was strikingly empty and small, her body no longer a conduit for the hammer’s power. She could scarcely breathe and it took a moment for her body to remember its autonomic functions. Her lungs expanded and contracted, her heartbeat strong and fast in her chest. Natasha blinked her leadened lids, her mouth hanging open as she just breathed, disoriented and confused.   </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything seemed much darker now, and she barely registered Steve’s voice as he spoke to her. “Just breathe,” he said, his fingers stroking through her hair as she gasped and shuddered. Natasha was so weak that she realized what he meant before. She had the sense that if she stayed like that for a few more days, letting the hammer’s power consume her body, it would’ve killed her when she let go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tried to speak, tried to make herself say something, but she couldn’t. She was drained, empty. Without the hammer’s influence, she felt raw, exposed. It had smoothed her rough edges, placated her all this time. Now that it was gone, she felt human again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes barely stayed open, but she still registered the bright flash of light, the rumble of thunder rolled overhead.  She frowned and Steve placed the hammer down and stood, towering over her as she lay on the bed. He seemed to be in less pain, though his movements were still stiff and limited. He turned to her, his eyes the same glowing, unearthly blue as they were before, his beard blonde and neat. Natasha trembled, tears leaking from her eyes. It felt like she was losing him in a way she couldn’t express. Is this what he wanted? It was one thing if he never wanted to see her again— she could learn to live with that, but it was heartbreakingly different if he didn’t want to be Steve anymore, if he’d rather live like this and become a living conduit for the hammer’s power instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve knelt, his arms sliding beneath her knees and back as he picked her up and moved her to lie more comfortably on the bed. She could barely manage to speak or keep her eyes open. Her voice was small, pleading as she choked out his name. “Steve…” she said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t do this.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But she couldn’t finish the thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes fluttered shut and she felt the gentle caress of his thumb over her temple as she was dragged into rest. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oh shiiiiit. This ends well I swear 😂</p><p>Next week might be the last chapter? Maaaaybe one more. It kind of depends on how long it ends up being. I'll keep you posted haha. </p><p>Edit to add: A Ghrá mo Chroí is Irish Gaelic and is pronounced sort of like “Aghraa muchree” Phonetically, (ah grahh muh cree) </p><p>Follow me on twitter (@YeetaNo) for updates!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. To Be Worthy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natasha awoke in the familiar emptiness of her turf house. She blinked, her body still drained, her mind foggy from Mjölnir’s absence. She felt hungover, weak without it, but she drew a breath and made herself sit up anyway. </p><p> </p><p>She had no idea how long it had been since Steve had disappeared with the hammer, but she knew she needed to find him. It didn’t matter that it made him stronger— in fact, she was beginning to fear that pull now. He’d been using it for longer than she had, and its promise of power and strength disguised the fact that it used up its hosts, made them into Thor. He knew that and was choosing it anyway, and Natasha wasn’t about to let him. </p><p> </p><p>She shook herself, and left the turf house, letting her frustration carry her through the malaise. She hastily threw on a cloak, gathered fresh linen bandages, and went out to find him. Shutting the door behind her, Natasha squinted against the bright sunlight. It seemed to be morning now— she had slept for the rest of the day. In the distance, plumes of smoke swirled and stretched into the pale blue of the sky. The smell brought her back to the battle that tore this place apart. Her mouth soured. Perhaps it had been longer than a day. </p><p> </p><p>Lightning flashed by the cliffside in the direction of the manor house Strucker had constructed for Steve’s arrival. Natasha frowned and marched through the burnt-out ruin of the village in the direction of the fires. Cleanup efforts were still underway in the tiny little hamlet. The timber barracks and mead hall were nothing but charred ruins, the bathhouse was partly damaged, the rows of turf housing and storage buildings gone. A pungent smoky odor still lingered and likely would for quite some time. </p><p> </p><p>Another flash of lightning split the sky and Natasha quickened her pace. As she left the village behind, the manor house came into view. </p><p> </p><p>It was there that she found him among his warriors. </p><p> </p><p>He was ashen, his lips tightly pursed in an attempt to disguise his pain. He kept a white-knuckle grip on Mjölnir, his other hand gripped his injured side tightly. His men were moving the dead, preparing them for funeral rites. There were rows of lit pyres. Not just for his warriors, but the old warlords’ as well. </p><p> </p><p>Steve took a shuddering breath and moved the body of a young woman. Natasha’s heart broke to watch him as he carried her to one of the many waiting pyres. He took a moment to speak to her as three shieldmaidens arranged her sword and shield, placing other items in her hands, arranging her hair. When they were finished, they stepped away and Steve raised Mjölnir aloft. </p><p> </p><p>Before he could call down lightning, Steve faltered, clearly in pain. But he quickly waved off the shieldmaidens who tried to assist and made himself keep going. Raising Mjölnir again, he called down a strike that lit the remaining pyres. </p><p> </p><p>Steve was silent as he watched them burn, his grip on Mjölnir so tight, it looked painful. Natasha softened, her heart breaking for him. Silently she came up beside him and took his free hand. He glanced down at her briefly, expression unreadable, before he squeezed her hand in return, his fingers trembling. </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>After laying his warriors to rest, Steve put on a brave face again. They had stayed for quite a while— it was afternoon now and Steve seemed anxious to leave. “I’m glad to see you’re awake,” he said with a wan smile as he finally slipped his hand free of hers. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha watched him for a moment. “How long was I out?” </p><p> </p><p>He took a shuddering breath and made himself move, heading back to the village. “Only two days,” he said over his shoulder. Natasha followed, quickly falling into step with him. “Nothing compared to the week I was asleep.” </p><p> </p><p>She frowned. “Steve—” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re not fine,” she protested. “You need to—” </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve rested enough,” he said, tone clipped. “There’s too much to contend with. Ross is in the wind, the Eitr mine has to be sealed, the village needs rebuilding, Sharon needs assistance…”  </p><p> </p><p>She could hear the tremor in his voice. Natasha stopped walking, watching as he limped onward with single-minded determination. He was stopped by a group of his warriors, pausing to answer their questions as he heavily favoured his injured side. He was going to collapse at this rate. </p><p> </p><p>Anger flickered through her to see him like this. He was pushing himself beyond his limits. Is that what she could expect as long as he possessed the hammer? For him to push and push until he broke? She frowned, staring at the hammer in his hand. If he wasn’t going to protect himself, then she would. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha reached out her hand, calling Mjölnir to her. She could feel the tug-of-war within the weapon, feel how it weighed her desire over Steve’s. She wanted it more, she told it. Mjölnir leapt from Steve’s grip and flew straight to her waiting hand. Lightning struck through her, and she inhaled, imbued once more with its power. Steve’s legs buckled as he returned to his real body and she caught him before he fell. He let out a pained cry, his hands curled into her tunic. “Please excuse us,” Natasha said as she lifted him up, ignoring the shocked looks on the warriors’ faces. “I need a word with Storm Bringer.” </p><p> </p><p>She promptly left, carrying Steve back toward the turf house. His teeth were gritted, eyes screwed shut in pain. He was shaking all over, his body limp in her arms. It took him a moment to muster the energy to speak.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me go,” he said quietly. “Let me go.”</p><p> </p><p>She shook her head. “You can barely stand, Steve.” </p><p> </p><p>He stared up at her angrily. “Then give me the hammer,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha considered him for a moment. They were on the hillside, nearly at the turf house. She knelt and put Mjölnir down in the grass, setting Steve down so he could reach it. “Take it then,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>He reached out and grabbed the pommel, but nothing happened. His determination slipped, his expression broken. He pulled, but the hammer wouldn’t budge. “No…” he said.  He pulled again, desperately. Natasha’s will was absolute and he couldn’t overpower it. She refused to let him take it. He slipped out of her arms to his knees, pulling the hammer with both hands before he collapsed, his head on his knees. He sucked in a ragged breath, his body trembling. “I don’t understand,” he said quietly. “I don’t…” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha drew him to look at her and his expression pained her. “You need to rest,” she whispered. “You need time to heal.”</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t want me anymore,” he breathed. The hurt and devastation on his face filled her with regret.</p><p> </p><p>This had been his mission for the better part of a year, he had been willing to die for it, he still was. He had told her as much— this was all he had for so long and now it was gone. Gently, she gathered him into her arms and Steve buried his face into her hair, his arms wrapped around her so tightly. He was breaking, shattering under the weight of everything that had happened. “It’s—” he shook, his body wracked with sobs. “It’s all my fault. They’re dead because of me,” he cried. “I have to lead them, I have to—” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha held him tightly, her face dipping into his shoulder. She could feel his tears, hot and wet against her shoulder. His hands were balled into her tunic, clinging so tightly. He was holding on to this awful guilt and sorrow. Silently, she picked him up and was about to take him back to the turf house to rest, but the promise of the stifling darkness of the little room deterred her. Instead, she carried him to the cliffs. She was beginning to love this place. It had a sacredness, a sense of freedom. She had shared so much with him here. Laughter, healing, now tears. </p><p> </p><p>She set Mjölnir down and sat with Steve, wrapping her cloak around them as she held him close. It was warm today, the sun pale and friendly on her skin. “They chose to follow you, Steve. They knew what that meant,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>“Not me,” he said. “Thor.” Natasha was quiet, letting him unburden himself of this. It was clear he still felt he wasn’t enough, that he wasn’t good enough. “They don’t know me,” he said. “I can’t lead anyone like this. I can’t protect anyone like <em> this.”</em> </p><p> </p><p>None of it was true, but that was the burden he carried— to know that he was worthy of wielding such power, that it allowed him to become something greater than himself and resenting that he needed it at all. </p><p> </p><p>She held him, let him say whatever he needed to say, do whatever he needed to do. He was so fraught with grief, with guilt. She stayed with him, cried with him until the sun dipped low on the horizon, washing the world with red and gold. When he had nothing left to give, she stayed with him still. </p><p> </p><p>They had been silent for a long time. Natasha turned her gaze on the setting sun dipping low into the horizon. She sighed and turned to speak in Steve’s ear as she held him. “Is that what you want?” she asked. “To be Thor?” </p><p> </p><p>He drew a breath, collecting himself enough to speak. “The first time I wielded Mjölnir— it controlled me, pulled me apart until I wasn’t myself anymore.” He sighed and pulled away to meet her eyes. His response was measured, calculated. It made her wonder how often he wrestled with that question. “It was like looking into the eye of a storm, being like that. For a moment, it felt as though I was the centre of the nine realms, outside looking in. I could see myself holding on, see that the power I held also held onto me— I just… I let it go.” </p><p> </p><p>Not many saw the connection, it seemed. Of all the champions Mjölnir showed her, none of them became human again after picking up the hammer. He drew a steadying breath and sat back. “I miss how it feels when the power is gone,” he admitted. “It… makes it all hurt less. Maybe you feel like that too. Mjölnir takes what’s in your heart, makes it its own. It takes the burden of being human, eases it, and numbs it.” </p><p> </p><p>She <em> was </em> beginning to understand that. It was pleasant, letting Mjölnir feed on her, comfortably numb. “At what cost?” she asked. </p><p> </p><p>Steve was silent and she turned to face him, a bit more insistent. “I heard the voices of previous wielders, saw them like they were here in front of me. Many worthy, many fallen Thors. If it chips away at who you are, smooths over all the rough edges, would you be the same man in a year? Five years?” </p><p> </p><p>He knew he wouldn’t be. The hammer fed on his emotion and would continue to feed until they were one and the same. </p><p> </p><p>“I…” he paused, uncertain. “There must always be a Thor,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she said. “But it doesn’t have to be you, or me. Let this be someone else’s burden. Let it choose another champion.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve shook his head, expression troubled. “I can’t just let it go. The Eitr, when it was within me— the things it whispered…” his eyes were haunted as he looked at her, willing her to understand. “You saw it, too… it’s the same as Mjölnir, the same power, the same thing that exists in me, in you, in <em> everything</em>. It is life itself, death itself. It… pulled on my heart, began to convince me of things that weren’t true, rewrote reality in my head as it saw fit.” He closed his eyes, his expression pained. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha swallowed. The Red Room had it now. A tool like that, a poison of the body and mind would be lethal in their hands. Steve shook his head, willing her to understand him. “How can I abandon Mjölnir’s power when its equal exists? How can I protect everyone, protect <em> you </em>—”  </p><p> </p><p>He buried his face into his hands in frustration. She understood this feeling well. All the worthy did. Her gaze drifted to her feet.</p><p> </p><p>“This power will destroy you,” she said quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Steve let out a little breath. “I know.” </p><p> </p><p>She clenched her jaw, watching Mjölnir intently. “I won’t let it,” she said. “If it wants a host, then I am it.” Steve pushed himself to his feet, holding his side tightly. He looked down at her, eyes narrowed. He was about to argue, so she cut him off. “Why not me?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>She stood and now Steve looked up at her, just barely coming up to her shoulder.  </p><p> </p><p>“No,” he said. “You’ve given so much of your life to the Red Room—”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha gave him a short laugh. “That makes me the perfect candidate,” she said, “I have much to atone for.”</p><p> </p><p>He narrowed his eyes. “I won’t let you sacrifice yourself to this,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“And you think I don’t feel the same?” Steve pursed his lips, looking up at her with a frustrated expression. “You don’t have ownership of self-sacrifice, Steve. I don’t want you to do this either.” He glowered, the muscle in his face jumped, but he had nothing further to argue. She took his silence to mean that she had won.</p><p> </p><p>She stooped and picked up the hammer. Mjölnir twisted within her, seemingly pleased to have a permanent host at last. It fed into her sense of victory, made her almost prideful, arrogant. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “Stop me?” </p><p> </p><p>His frown deepened, eyes flashing with that fiery determination. Cutting through the boastful pride was the notion that she shouldn’t have provoked him. Steve suddenly reached out his hand and she felt Mjölnir pull toward him, attracted to his will, his desire to protect. The hammer tried to leap from her grasp, but she wouldn’t let go. In her moment of panic, Steve grasped the pommel. </p><p> </p><p>Lightning arced and flashed between them, unsure of who to imbue with cosmic energy. At her centre, Mjölnir’s power threatened to tear from her, but she wouldn’t let it. She could feel Steve’s heart, feel how much he wanted to save her from this. She wanted to protect him, too. </p><p> </p><p>Confused, Mjölnir burst in a flash of light that imbued them both. Steve stood at eye level with her, his eyes glowing, beard and hair shimmering a beautiful gold. He gave her a crooked smile. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not letting go,” she said with a frown. </p><p> </p><p>“Nor I,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha gave him a tiny smile of her own, her seriousness threatening to break. “I could make you, you know.” </p><p> </p><p>“I have no doubt,” he said. “But I’m not letting go all the same.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re a troublesome man.” </p><p> </p><p>They were at an impasse, it seemed. Neither was willing to let the other sacrifice themselves. There was only one solution for that. Determined, Natasha moved, faster than he could react. But Steve was anticipating her attack, expecting her to sweep the legs, or perhaps take the fight to the ground, and prepared to move when she pulled him closer and kissed him. </p><p>A soft noise came from the back of his throat, his body stiffened in surprise. She pulled away with a laugh, smoothing his hair from his forehead. </p><p> </p><p>“What—” he breathed. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re not alone, Steve. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.” </p><p> </p><p>He blinked. Clearly, he had expected an argument. “I… What are you saying?” he asked softly.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m asking you to share the load,” she said. “Share this burden with me.” </p><p> </p><p>He seemed a little surprised at her proposition and she reached out and cupped his face. His lashes fluttered and she could feel the heat rise in his cheek as she stroked his skin, his beard soft under her hand. There were so many things she wished she could change— her sister was gone, the village was in ruins, and Steve was right— their marriage was built on lies. She hadn't truly married him, and he hadn’t truly wed her either. But there was something that she <em> could </em> fix. </p><p> </p><p>With her free hand, Natasha reached into her tunic to withdraw the linen strips. Slowly she unraveled them and took his hand. Steve searched her, his brow knit with confusion as Natasha took his hand and wound the cloth over his wrist before she clasped his hand. She glanced up at him with a faltering smile. He watched her hesitantly, unsure of what she was doing. But Natasha wanted to make this right. She let go of Mjölnir, transforming back. Steve’s lips parted in surprise. When she spoke to him, she wanted it to be as herself. </p><p> </p><p>“These are the hands of the woman who loves you,” she said, bridging her fingers with his. Steve let out a little breath, his expression soft. The wind stirred his hair in the fading sunset and she watched their twined fingers as she continued. “I am my own woman, free of the ties that once bound me. That which is mine to give, I give freely to you.” Steve squeezed her hand and she swallowed hard. “I want to share with you,” she said, “my laughter, my tears…” a little laugh broke from her. “<em>Everything</em>. No matter what it is. I want to share my life with you. From now until the end.” </p><p> </p><p>She heard him drop Mjolnir and when she looked up, she was looking at <em> him.</em> Her heart leapt. This was the man she had fallen in love with— a short Northman, fierce and kind. She met the clear blue of his eyes, etched his smile into her. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t wanted this, in her heart of hearts. At the altar on their wedding night, she had wanted it to be him. </p><p> </p><p>Hesitantly, she lifted his hand to plant a gentle kiss on the inside of his wrist. Her lips lingered on his skin and she looked up at him with such warmth and adoration. “You have my heart,” she said, “You have always had my heart. And if you will have the rest of me, I vow to be always at your side.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve was speechless, his expression so tender. Natasha smiled, nearly forgetting what she wanted to do, and fumbled to pull their wedding rings from around her neck. Steve faltered to see them, and with his free hand, pressed his fingers to his eyes to keep himself from crying. He held her hand so tightly, she couldn’t slide the ring on his finger. She laughed and leaned in close. </p><p> </p><p>“Love, I’m trying to make it official so I’m afraid I’ll need your hand back.” </p><p> </p><p>Steve laughed a breathless, wobbly little laugh, his eyes shining with happy tears as he relaxed his hand so that she could slide the band onto his finger. It fit a little loosely, but he didn’t seem to care. </p><p> </p><p>“Natasha,” he said, voice thick with emotion. He caught himself with a little frown. “Sorry… I know that’s not your name.”</p><p> </p><p>But it was. It was the only name she wanted. It was the only name she could think to call her own. “I want it to be,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>He smiled. “<em>Natasha,</em> mo shíorghra.” Her face flushed to hear him speak her name. “I love you.” He wiped his eyes on his shoulder briefly with a sheepish little chuckle. “Sorry, I… I can’t think of anything else to say.”  </p><p> </p><p>It felt as though her life had finally begun. She was free, she was who she wanted to be. Sorrow and hardship and troubles could wait for another day. For now, this was everything. Natasha watched as Steve put her ring on her finger, her eyes blurring with tears. He laughed and kissed her fingers before straightening to complete the ceremony. Taking each end of the linen cloth, Steve and Natasha pulled, tying their marriage with a tight knot. She looked into the eyes of her husband with a smile, the light of the setting sun bathing him in rich gold. Whatever came next, they would face it together. </p><p> </p><p>She hooked her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “If you can’t think of anything to say, show me instead,” she said. </p><p> </p><p>Steve gave her a lopsided grin, his hands settling on her waist. </p><p>“As my lady commands,” he said as he leaned in and kissed his wife. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wow, we're here! We made it!<br/>Some final notes: Mo shíorghra: Means ‘my eternal love’, sometimes used as a term for ‘soulmates’. It's pronounced something like "muh heer-graw" </p><p>Thanks, everybody for reading! I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I set out to write this (definitely not this lol), but I really had a lot of fun with this story and I hope you did too.  If you're wondering, I did leave this open for a possible sequel, but I won't be actively working on it for a while (long fics are hard work!). If you like, let me know what parts you enjoyed! </p><p>Follow me on Twitter for updates (@YeetaNo).<br/>Also, keep your eyes peeled for lil' something something possibly this December 👀</p>
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